The Night
by MewHannah-Chan
Summary: The only certain things in this world are the sun, the moon, and the monsters that skulk across the land beneath. Hoping for a better life and many answers, Roxas leaves his town of monsters for the city of real ones. SoRoku Vampire fic. EPIC REDUX of "Blood Love" and "Things That Kill in the Night".
1. A Prologue by Any Other Name

**The Night  
**time is really the best time to work. All the ideas are there to be yours because everyone else is asleep.  
~Catherine O'Hara

* * *

In Twilight Town, it would have been sunset by this time. A time where the sun would disappear behind the mountains and leave an artistic array of soft colors that would tickle the clouds pink and envelope the sky in a Dreamsicle.

However, Dusk City is a completely different story.

It's a dark place where, if it's not raining, the city is heavily flooded with fog, or the tall buildings block the sun. The sun is a distant dream, as there are few glimpses of it through the day. There is the sunrise, the sunset, and then nightfall: a time of pure darkness.

And with every dark space, something is surely lurking within it.

As nightfall approaches, once a month there is the moon-rise, and the Dusk Tower bells sound; covering the whole city in a fearful outlook. In Twilight Town, the Twilight Tower bells signaled everyone to relax and let themselves slip into harmony. But here, it's the exact opposite. The clock tower bells meant to close up shop, get home, lock your doors, board your windows, and wait in fear the rest of the night until daybreak. The reason for this?

The things that go bump in the night.

Or rather, _things that kill in the night._

They feast upon the innocent to eliminate their hunger, they would battle their own sibling for a scrap of meat, and they howl at the presence of the moon. They are the werewolves. These creatures hide in the day, blended in with mortal society, then strike at night when people least expect it. When the moon is full, they frenzy; eating until nothing is left.

But it's not just the werewolves that the city-folk fear… it is the real-life succubae and incubi—the vampires. They appear as regular people who show no harm by offering help to others so as to escape the damned labyrinth of Dusk City. But then, when the poor, unfortunate soul of a victim is not looking… they're drained and dazed. Sometimes dead.

By now, the citizens were accustomed to this and routinely set out cattle or other large animals so the werewolves would feast upon anything instead of them. Blood banks would even sell packets of blood for a reasonable price to keep vampires satiated. Of course, it didn't always work.

Humans don't tend to realize how delectable they are… especially fresh.

However… rarely, but more often than not, humans are sought after for something besides their flesh and blood. Sometimes humans are more than just mortal, and the most satiating of delicacies can also have the most power. Over the lycans, the vampires, the ghouls, the gargoyles…

They have power over all of Dusk City and the creatures of the night.

And my dear reader, you may think this plot begins at this point… but to tell a good story, one must start at the beginning, and when one comes to the end, one stops.

So we'll start back where the sky is Dreamsicle orange, bells are tolled for harmony, and where all these eerie rumors of Dusk City stem from: Twilight Town…

_**BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEE—**_

…just as Roxas slams his hand down onto the snooze button of his annoying alarm clock before groaning into his mattress.

"Another day, another 24 hours closer to my demise…"

* * *

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop."

~Lewis Carroll

* * *

_Exeunt_

* * *

You've all begged, pleaded, prayed, hoped for, masturbated to, and forgot about the next chapters to both Things That Kill in the Night and Blood Love.

And now here they are.

Imagine yourself as the sweaty, panting, aroused Roxas laid on a bed; legs spread and waiting for the next step. I'm Sora; ready to take it to the next step, but instead I'm going to mess with you and take my sweet time with you because I'm such a tease like that.

Now go change your panties, you perv. Jesus.

(Happy Halloween)

**_[3/3/14: edited to better fit the updated plot]_**


	2. I: Ophelia

**The Night  
**Chapter I: _Ophelia_

* * *

_**June 28**__**th**__**, 2024**_

At least the sky never lies_, thought Roxas; his blue eyes caught the creamsicle daytime, ears humming. Midday at Market Street. On a Friday, of course: the one day heavy noise of foot traffic and obnoxious crowd chatter manage to reach this crow's nest of his—a tall building, it's top just out of sight. It's the perfect view of the heavy crowd trailing in from Station Heights and the Tram Common. At this time of the day, most are normally coming home from work, some are there to enjoy the weekend, and few are trying to escape the chaos… like Roxas. _

_He leaned toward the edge of his vantage point, which is just above his room. The only access to it is through his window, or the fire escape reaching up from the Back Alley. Here, he was high above the masquerade wading beneath him. His fingers dangled over the edge like those of a whimsical puppetmaster—trailing his little hollow figurines across fake lives with scowls that are masked by fake smiles. Fake laughter. Fake everything._

_Beneath each shell is a core of hypocrisy and dark secrets. It's a town that has poisoned itself with judgment; no smart man here would divulge even the lithest of truths. Rumors drop like ink bombs and are seen by every eye, heard by every ear, and stain every surface—forever marring, unforgiving, life destroying. At least his watchtower is safe, and at least he can do as he pleases here without a worry._

_Roxas' other hand languidly rolled a glinting blue orb against a cemented crack in worn brick. His prized possession. His gaze lingered on it, and a rare smile creeped across his face. This is one of four orbs pulled off of a trophy he'd won in a Struggle match; the poisonous town's favorite sport. The other three are in possession of his only friends: Hayner, Pence, and Olette. Their grinning faces and hearty laugher resonated in the reflection of the object, and Roxas clutched it. Behind his own smile was pain, and quietly he reconsidered his plans to leave. The plan was to run away at the end of this summer and never return. Within an hour, every loose end could be tied up, and he would never have to look back again._

_But something in his friends' pure eyes drove him to regret the very thought._

"_Hey-o!" Came a sarcastic drawl, "You waiting for Romeo, miss Juliet?"_

_Roxas rolled his eyes, and couldn't help the chuckle that shuddered out of his chest. As he turned, he laid a melodramatic hand against his heart, and romantically cooed. "Where for art thou… Hayner." Roxas bat his eyelashes in the girliest way possible, and Hayner doubled over in laughter._

"_I'm sorry ma'am, I thought you we're my dude-friend!" His torso heaved in giggles, and Roxas shook his head at the lameness of the comeback._

"_What are you doing up here anyway?"_

_After having regained his composure, Hayner stood upright with his signature cocky smirk smeared across his face. "Pence, Olette and I haven't seen you around all day, so I volunteered to sniff you out. I figured, this is your 'almost-as-usual' usual spot, so I might as well check here. Detective Hayner strikes again!"_

_Roxas wanted to say something about getting away with it and meddling kids; instead he shook his head and leaned back across his ledge to watch the still-loud sea of people. It didn't take long for Hayner to join him, and they stayed there for a while: staring down upon the blob of townsfolk and standing close enough where Roxas could feel the warmth resonating off his friend. Slowly, the static of the noise was driving Roxas insane, and Hayner's proximity was making him slightly uncomfortable. When he forced himself to glance over to his friend, Roxas noticed how sullen the other teen was._

"_So uh," He blurted out with sudden concern, "Is something wrong?" Hanyer's response was a look of confusion and Roxas pushed himself to obey their regular social norms; tip-toeing across the guidelines that were internally set for his friend. "Er… you seem slightly less obnoxious today. That's all." He flashed a crooked grin to lighten the mood, but Hayner's sudden dimness did not falter._

_Leaning his back against the structure, Hayner sighed. "The real reason I vouched to come find you is 'cause I need someone to talk to." He turned his somber brown-eyed gaze onto Roxas' blue concerned one. "It's about Olette."_

_Of course, despite their seemingly polar-opposite personalities, Hayner and Olette are the perfect couple. They communicate well, work together easily, and are so deeply in love that it not even a fool could deny it. Of course, in any relationship, all it takes is one doubt…. especially in this town of poison._

"_I love her, and I want to be with her past high school—Hell, past college!" Hayner continued, "But I'm afraid I'll get tempted. You know me, man; I've got a hair-trigger in my brain, dude… if I see something I like I go after it. What if I do it while I'm with her?" He ran his fingers though his slicked sandy-blond hair, "I just gotta stop being tempted. I wanna get a taste, and never have to need it again."_

"_Wait, are you saying," The disgust in Roxas' tone was very evident, "you're going to cheat on Olette _now_ because you're afraid you'll do it _later_?"_

_Hayner picked up on it quick, "Whoa, dude!" He reached over to grip Roxas' shoulder, "Listen, I'm a horny bi teenager, alright? You know it, I know it… fuck, it's so obvious even Olette knows it. Thing is, I don't want to fuck anyone, I just… well maybe… I dunno. I mean…" The deep scowl on Roxas' face jarred Hayner to continue, "I just want to get rid of this carnal desire. Like, do some sexy stuff, get it over with, and let my desire finally center Olette."_

_The pause that followed was more grating than the Friday bustle could ever be, but both boys bared it. Roxas heavily contemplated Hayner's words, and the only advice he could think to give was a punch to the face. Olette didn't deserve anyone going behind her back for any reason—and in this town, there really was no one Hayner could trust with his exploits without metaphorically shining a spotlight on himself and holding a flashing neon sign that says he cheated. At this point, he might as well post fliers across the Tram Commons with his scheme listed for the entire populous of Twilight Town to read._

_Seeing no positive outlook, Roxas hung his head, "You should really just keep it in your pants. There's no one here that you can really trust with something like that, especially in this awful place." He felt Hayner lift his chin, and his face got hot when he realized how close his brown-eyed friend suddenly was._

"_Well," Hayner said slowly, his smirking lips closer now than ever before. "I can trust you, can't I?"_

_A ball of unease curled in Roxas' gut and rolled up his throat as he pleaded with Hayner to not put such a heavy burden on him, that this could ruin their friendship, destroy their lives, and that this town has unforgiving eyes. However, not a single word had actually passed his lips as Hayner pulled him in for a kiss. Roxas did not move or resist; he glanced toward a brick on the roof with a scuffmark and held his gaze there as Hayner's hands explored him. He felt so numb, even against his friend's unbelievably warm embrace and soft lips. Roxas forced every emotion to drain away, so no feeling would linger on the memory, and did his best to focus on the details of the aforementioned scuff. His concentration was shattered when he felt Hayner bite onto his neck while simultaneously grinding him. A low, surprised moan was Roxas' response as his eyes shut and his grip found the front of Hayner's vest for stability. A sudden agony filled him when he realized he was still holding the glinting blue orb, and in his head swam apologies as he imagined it dripping with ink._

_A few rooftops away, somewhere along the skirts of the Tram Commons, there was a devious grin beneath a set of binoculars._

* * *

**July 2****nd****, 2024**

Roxas curls beneath his sheets, arm outstretched and hand still on the snooze button of his alarm clock. The touch screen readout displays 6:32 am, the buzzer having gone off about two minutes ago. Summer break or no, his alarm is still set for a normal school day; thirty minutes to shower, ten to make some food, another twenty on the tram to school. The train normally arrives at 7:20 am, but his father also wakes up quite some time before that; Roxas would rather stand in the station for a while than witness his hung-over dad pitifully lug himself around while using every spare breath to curse his son. Around sunset is when Roxas has deemed it safe to return home; by then his father is usually asleep on the couch, beer bottle in hand (hard liquor on a bad day), snoring to highlights of a professional Struggle match. Nights where his father is still up, glaring at the TV screen with glazed eyes, Roxas will fix him another drink and go to bed.

Deciding he's better off getting out of the house as soon as possible, Roxas manages to sit up in his bed and ruffle his soft spikes. He gets up off of the mattress and out of the tangle of blankets; ignoring the fleeting lapse of dizziness caused by his urgency. He has a moment of pause before he kneels down next to his bed and immediately notices the shining object protruding from the underside of his mattress. He lifts the edge of the bed up, and counts the lustrous spheres of varying sizes; they cover every square inch of his solid bed base and reach a total of 21,050 munny. His heart aches at the amount; six summers of hard work that have crumbled away under the weight of life's expenses. His original goals for college seem further away every day. He remembers his predicted routine would result in 97,200 munny in his pocket; he figures it's better off this way because now he can graduate early, having paid for online classes that led to extra credits.

He fits the mattress snugly onto the base and, after a quick check to make sure nothing else is poking out, looks underneath the bed. His hand disappears into the dark, box-filled chasm as he feels around it's contents: the backpack with his laptop hidden by extra clothes, the satchel holding his prepaid cell phone amongst train schedules and maps, and—

Smooth, glossy wood greets Roxas' touch, and he sighs in relief.

In the shower, underneath the rainfall spout, all Roxas can think of is Hayner and his antics. Massaging the shampoo suds out of his hair, he remembers Olette's sweet words and loving gestures toward the brown-eyed hooligan just hours after the rooftop incident. There's a slight nausea attached to the memory of Hayner returning her gestures—Roxas smoothes conditioner onto his scalp—as if nothing had ever happened.

Of course, the whole idea was to never inform Olette of her boyfriend's ridiculous misdoings, but it burrowed into Roxas' brain like some otherworldly guilt-worm. The feeling is still heavy in his chest, but there's something else that doesn't seem right about that day, something that he can't seem to shake. Glancing at the shower panel, Roxas curses; according to the projected screen he's off schedule.

Sometime after toweling off and getting dressed—black shirt, white vest, cargos, sneakers—Roxas creeps his way down the stairs as quietly as possible. He's running late, and by now his father is most likely up and dragging his ass around the house. Surely enough, a slumped figure donning a stained bathrobe is reaching into the booze cabinet above the fridge. Taking advantage of the opening, Roxas briskly approaches the door across the hallway.

"Good morning to you too, dipshit." His father's droning echoes down the hallway. Roxas can imagine the stinking breath and yellowing teeth gnashing in his direction. "Nice to see you're feeling so lively while your dad sits here dying, you ungrateful bastard."

The words are hollow, and after all these years of desensitization, they stir no emotion in Roxas; all that's left of his father's voice is alcohol-scented white noise. There's a gulping sound, and Roxas chooses that moment to scoop up his skateboard and leave.

As he closes the door behind himself, his father's biting words hiss through the crack, "I'm not done talking to you, ya little—"

The shout is cut off by a combination of a slammed door and the skateboard clattering against the road. After a quick push, Roxas lets gravity do the rest of the work; his only objective to get as much distance between himself and _"home" _as possible.

The wind blowdries his still-damp hair, Market Street passes in an orange-blue-yellow blur, and the faint bustle of the business day dissolves beneath his skateboard's rattle. The streets are empty with all the working townsfolk at Station Plaza, and all the students sleeping in for summer break. Stopping at the end of Market Street, Roxas contemplates his next destination. He considers visiting the Usual Spot, but his house sits right next to it and that goes against his initial plan of staying away from there. Plus, walking uphill sucks, and it's unlikely his friends are there this early in the day.

_Going to the Sandlot is out of the question,_ thinks Roxas with a look of disgust in it's direction; not at all worth the gamble should _a certain guy_ somehow be there. That certain guy being Seifer: the most despicable person in a town full of despicable people. _There should be an award for that._ A smirk tugs at Roxas' lips. The image of a golden douche statue awarded to Seifer pops into his head, and he resolves to visit the Tram Common.

Unsurprisingly, it's vastly empty with a few early-morning and weekday shoppers dotting the scape. Despite major technological upgrades and remodeling recently done, it's always a very lazy place up until the weekend. The tram that trolleys through the area is empty save for the conductor—who's probably pretty bored—and a happy-looking older couple sitting at the back. The lack of energy in the place is especially apparent due to unenthusiastic or asleep shopkeepers neglecting their jobs.

Just as Roxas reconsiders coming here, he spots something familiar out of the corner of his eye; none other than Olette and Pence looking over a large holoscreen ad on a nearby wall. A three-dimensional explosion, followed by obnoxious shining text earns a loud scoff from Pence. He watches them fondly, memories of their past swimming in his head. He remembers the few weeks after they all turned sixteen (Roxas very last) where Pence hit a crazy growth spurt and now towers three inches over Hayner, four over Roxas, and five over Olette. They bickered and argued as Olette counted the tickmarks of Pence's height every week for a good ten months. The result was the once-chubby boy suddenly having a healthy weight for his height; driving Roxas and Hayner to insanity trying to figure it out, despite Pence's explanation that it simply happens to all the males in his family. He observes how tiny Olette looks next to Pence, feeling small himself even at this distance. Giving a light push, Roxas coasts in their direction and the prattling is recognized by the two as they turn to him almost instantly.

"Roxas!" Olette's light voice hits his ears, and he can't help but smile at how sweet she always sounds. Her voice carries sunshine in an otherwise darker place, along with her always-helpful nature. Olette only ever looks out for the ones she cares about, as if bound to a selfless conquest. "Fancy seeing you here." Roxas ignores the oncoming heartache that sends a twang through his chest, and does his best to find solace in her kind green eyes.

"Oh thank god," Pence groans, "Save me Roxas, she's been dragging me all over!" He reaches toward the blond with a melodramatic expression of pain. "Kill me," Pence chokes out, "Kill… me…" His ridiculous act makes Roxas feel grateful for such unique friends; they're almost like the maskless rebels who crash the masquerade… fitting, being the only ones with such causality in a town so rigid you could snap it like a dead twig.

"Seriously Pence," Roxas laughs a rare, hearty laugh, "Shopping can't be _that_ bad. Look how upset you made Olette!" They both look in her direction, and the ray of sun that usually surrounds her demeanor turns into a storm cloud with as little as a scowl. Her glare reads Pence's death wish eagerly, and said boy gulps. It seems funny how easily such a larger man can somehow shrink under Olette's quiet wrath. "Uh, but anyway," Roxas attempts to cut through the sudden tension, "What are you shopping for?"

The almost-instant shift in Olette's mood surprises Roxas as she claps her hands together and chirps, "A new outfit for a date, of course!" The loving smile on her face spreads throughout her features, "Hayner and I haven't had one for a while, so we're going out to dinner tonight!"

The thought comes through without Roxas noticing: _I'm sure there's something he's making up for. _There's that feeling again… Roxas swallows back the guilt and forces a small smile to his lips. He begs himself to forget, to let it go. _You'll tear yourself apart. Hayner never kissed you, and you certainly never…_

His lies feel empty as he remembers twisting his fingers into Hayner's hair and kissing him back.

Pence lets out a sarcastic "D'awwwwww you two are just so cute." He rolls his eyes, "Where to now, mistress?"

The combined pout-glare that is directed toward Pence is both menacing and strangely cute. "Actually," She huffs, "since Roxas has come to your rescue, I can leave you here while I do some lingerie shopping." The taunting smile that curls her lips tells all: this is the part Pence was looking forward to.

"But!" He cries, "If I stare at all the 3D posters without a girl there people think I'm creepy! Olette!" The girl had long since said her goodbyes and trotted off.

As Pence whines, Roxas' gaze meets the holoscreen where a large spoon points in his direction. The advertisement reads directions to a French café just around the corner as various confectionary items fill the three-dimensional space. There is a low growl, and while relieved his stomach is churning from something other than guilt, Roxas is eager to make up for his skipped breakfast.

"Why don't we go to this place?" He asks Pence, and said boy follows his eyes to the ad. "I could really go for some sweets right now." Anything to take his mind off of everything, even if that means putting himself into a diabetic coma over those delicious-looking macaroons…

As his mouth waters, Pence lets out a sly chuckle, "Yes, perfect for your PMS."

Roxas was too hungry to call Pence a hypocrite.

* * *

The outdoor café is eerily empty due to the weekday morning lag; more so than most places. It was almost a relief to have that extra unexpected bit of peace in a place meant to be chaotic. Pence's good company was especially relaxing, as per normal. Even if their little group did have its own unique chaos, it was almost like oil on top of water compared to the town. They worked with a harmonic pace, never having to lie or keep things from each other.

Roxas takes a hard gulp from his water glass.

Or so it seemed.

At least being with Pence is like meditating in a quiet space. In that respect, Olette would be the scenery and quiet birds chirping in the distance… and Hayner would be the firecracker someone decided it would be fun to light under your ass. Being with each one was always a different experience, but together was best. In the middle of questioning his own symbolic place in the zen garden, Pence brought him back into reality.

"They have creampuffs _and_ crepes? Oh man," He lets out a dramatic sigh, more to himself than anyone else. "Life's tough decisions."

Enjoying the previous silence, Roxas makes no comment: his heart still set on the macaroons projected by the holoscreen earlier. Still, it feels odd to have such a strange sense of tranquility settle like this, almost mirroring how it was when they were children… when they were naïve. Roxas' mother would sing him to sleep on restless nights, he and his brother would sneak outside at midnight to watch the stars, and his little zen group had no worries; as all children should never have to worry over anything except for _things that go bump in the night_.

_Bump?_ Roxas thought. For some reason that didn't sound right. _The night?_ That's the only real time of peace he was used to, when all the masked figures retire and he's free from their cruel eyes and even crueler tongues—free to find the light in such a dark world.

He's the first to notice the unenthusiastic waitress return for their food orders, but motions Pence to go before him anyway. Pence orders raspberry crepes and Roxas asks for the macaroon sampler. While she jots down the order, Pence speaks up to her.

"Where are you based out of?"

"Excuse me?" The waitress asks, with an unnecessarily offended tone.

"Er," Is that simple of a question really so hard to answer? Pence taps his chin. "That is, I know this café chain has been around for some time, but this is the only one in Twilight Town. Where is the _restaurant_ based out of?"

The waitress' look changes to embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry," She says, "Uhm, the chain tends to move around, but I know the manager comes out of _Dusk_…" She looks off into the distance, and both boys follow her gaze to see another server making a zipping motion across his mouth. "…I'll go put these orders in for you."

She trails off toward the server and they proceed to quietly bicker while throwing haphazard glances in Roxas' and Pence's direction. After some furious hand gestures, they both storm off in different directions. Roxas' stomach groans and he hopes she's still going to put in the order, granted she hasn't been fired.

"Did you hear that?" Pence's voice is low, mischievous, quiet; it's the kind of voice used when kids whisper test answers to one another in class. It's a common delivery method for secrecy in Twilight Town, and Roxas almost feels shocked to hear Pence, of all people, using it.

Shaking off his disbelief, Roxas humors him anyway. "What?"

Pence leans in close—God, Roxas hates when people do that—and with a curt smile whispers, "_Dusk City._"

The way Pence says it makes Roxas feel like they're discussing a haunted house or some paranormal phenomena, which is actually very fitting. Even this town's monstrous people pale in comparison to the actual monsters that lurk Dusk City. The horrors that routinely arise from the godforsaken city are never few nor far between; the all-ye-who-enter-here-abandon-all-hope title is an earned one. Only one train a month goes in, and whoever may be on it is likely to never return. Most people flee _from_ the city _to_ Twilight Town, and thankfully they've long since created a system to keep any and all inhuman creatures out: the train only comes during the day, a blood sample must be taken, and any_thing_ trying to come in is sent back.

Of course, that is all speculation. In a place flooded with lies, even if the truth surfaces it will ultimately drown. Only those who've seen Dusk City, or have ridden the crazy train, know the reality.

But, no matter what, it will always be Roxas' trump card—the card he plans on using at summer's end.

"So?" Roxas scoffs, reaching over to his drink. "A lot of businesses move in from there. I'm pretty sure they don't get many customers in a city crawling with ghoulies, ghosties and long-legged beasties."

"Well, would you ever go there? I hear this month's train is leaving Thursday."

Roxas' clutch on the condensating glass tightens. If only he could tell him everything: every scheme, plot and plan he has toward his goals. He could spill it as easily as this glass of water, and release all this weight that's been built up for so very long. The pact he made himself long ago, every little detail he's hidden from each of his friends, each small step toward freedom…

"No," He dries his hand on the tablecloth, "No I would not."

He lives in the town of liars and he is a liar.

Suddenly, before him appears a plate with macaroons. The cascade of pastel colors is comforting on his gaze, and he feels his mouth watering once again. Courteously, he waits a moment for Pence to receive his plate and admits it looks pretty damn good: a glossy burgundy sauce drizzled over the near-perfect crepe only makes him hungrier. Unable to spare another second, Roxas picks up a rosy-pink macaroon and takes a bite. The crunch rings in his ears as the sweet flavor of the ganache envelopes his palette.

"Jesus Fuck," Roxas mutters, savoring the extraordinary confection. "This is fucking… wow."

As Roxas eats his way to sweet confectionary oblivion, Pence also enjoys his treat with a contented smile gracing his features

"So Roxas," He pipes up about halfway through his crepe. "there's been something I've been meaning to ask you about." Already done with his plate, Roxas leans onto the table—noticing just then how small it is—and nods for Pence to continue. "It's about the Hayner thing."

Roxas' stomach drops, though no emotion meets his face. The regret of stuffing his face with those macaroons appears alongside the fear his body will suddenly consider rainbow vomit to be necessary.

"…I have no idea—"

"Hey, hear me out," Pence interrupts him, "I know about the Struggle match." He looks at him with knowing eyes, and tilts his head ever-so-slightly in Roxas' direction. Roxas probably wouldn't notice if he wasn't gawking at Pence, but the taller boy's eyes flit toward the distance, and Roxas takes that as a cue to look behind him. Sure enough, the waitress from before is wiping down an already-clean table near them with an agonizingly slow pace. "I just want you to know two out of three isn't so bad. Hayner said you were pretty concerned about your technique, so he asked me to give you pointers." The waitress, obviously disappointed, slumps her shoulders before turning to leave; placing the bill on the table as she passes.

"Vultures," Roxas hisses, "Nothing but buzzards in a desert picking at everyone's sanity."

"What's this I hear about a struggle match?"

An agonizing crawling sensation meets Roxas' skin, and Pence sighs in annoyance.

_Of all days I don't accidentally run into him,_ Roxas grits his teeth. _Seifer has to come to me instead._

"I believe that's none of your business." Pence speaks up, "All there is here is friendly advice."

Then, Seifer laughs. He laughs that awful, evil, breathy laugh that shudders in Roxas' head and makes him want to disappear. The rage pounding in his skull makes everything topsy-turvy, every part of him is screaming to wring the man's neck but every logical part knows he'd never succeed.

"So Pudgeball is giving Rucksack advice on Struggling," He leans on the table between the two of them and grips the edge. "Seems suspicious to me."

An unease creeps through Roxas' nerves, and Pence holds his ground, "Good job using old insults, Seifer. Plus, Struggling is this town's favorite past-time, I'm pretty sure I know enough to give some advice."

Roxas has to give props, Pence has some serious balls. Of all people willing to stand up to Seifer, it's usually Hayner. Somewhere along the line, Pence must have taken up the mantle in the brown-eyed warrior's absence. Still, it hurt Roxas to not be able to step up after winning that Struggle trophy a couple years ago. Ever since then, it seems like Seifer holds a heavy grudge against Roxas; a constant _pining_ to get even upon his undefeated winning streak being broken.

_But is that it?_ The thought feels strange in Roxas' head. Why would he agonize over something like that for so long? _I'm not a strong person, I just got lucky. _His heart sinks, _I can't even stand up for myself, and I'm letting Pence defend me._

"Whatever losers," Seifer's snort was overtly obnoxious, "Enjoy your date." He saunters off in his own trademark haughty way, but something feels off.

He wasn't there very long…

There is a pause filled with multiple "vulture" checks before Pence clears his throat and leans in close again.

"Listen," Pence's voice is more sincere than secretive, "Hayner told me about everything: loving Olette, wanting to hook up with other people, and even the thing between you two."

What happens next is more shocking than what was just said. Roxas feels Pence's delicate touch gracing his leg; the soft strokes of his thumb admittedly comforting, but all the while terrifying. The touch travels further and further up Roxas' leg and he is at least relieved he doesn't have to worry about a girlfriend or something.

"Pence," he finally speaks up; in his head he can't stop thinking _Not you too._ "Why are you—"

"Please," Pence's voice takes a soothing tone, "I just want to say, I'm sorry it had to come to that. He tried to make a move on me too, but I shot him down. Just try not to worry about it, okay?" His hand caresses Roxas' thigh, and the blond inadvertently shudders. His face feels hot, and what's worse is Pence motions him closer. Unsure, Roxas leans in as much as he can and right away feels Pence's lips on his ear. "Besides," Pence's breath makes gooseflesh out of Roxas' skin. "He'd never out you like that, especially not to save his own ass. He only told me because he knows he can trust me."

Moving back slightly, Pence graces his lips over Roxas' cheek, and stops at the corner of his mouth. Their gazes lock, and Roxas is caught like a deer in the headlights; especially when Pence captures his lips so delicately it feels like one big, strange dream that lasts for only a few seconds. Pence leans back and everything continues its normal pace, as if it was all stuck in slow motion before. He gives Roxas' thigh a squeeze before withdrawing his hand and stretching in his chair.

"How long does lingerie shopping take anyway?" Pence pulls out a cherry-red phone, "Might as well give Olette a call and let her know where we are."

Shock floods Roxas' veins like an icy morphine and he feels a pseudoparalysis, gauged by his fleeting thoughts, envelop him. Why would Pence kiss him? They are both very comfortable with one another, and closeness is never an issue in their friendship…

Abruptly, a strange batch of memories passes through Roxas' mind.

While menial then, the memories reveal gestures and signs that seem obvious now: the way Pence sent gentle smiles when no one was looking, brushing skin with him very tenderly in passing, his lingering touch at the pat of the back… every little signal of affection that once went over Roxas' head is throbbing in his brain; all he can think of is every noncommittal kinesthetic he accidentally returned. Every smile he returned, every touch he leaned into, every possible scrap of misleading motion that could have sent the message of _flirting._ This social situation is strange. Only once has Roxas ever put forth his effort to show infatuation with someone, and that ended in…

_No,_ Roxas scolds himself, _Don't think about that. Just forget it._

His heart slowly begins to sink. It hurts to not be able to reciprocate Pence's feelings, as much as he would want to. What Roxas once perceived as love died a long time ago, but at least a civil kindness still exists.

He looks up at Pence with glassy blue eyes and internally apologizes to his beloved friend: the friend who has changed more from so long ago than maybe even Roxas himself. He watches as Pence chats away on his phone so casually, despite the situation from moments before, and the scene reminds Roxas all too much of Hayner's lack of care just days ago. The burning sensation of bile accompanies his feeling of disgust.

What's up with all his friends, anyway?

"So, Olette's almost done and she should be here relatively soon." Pence returns his phone to its hiding place before continuing, "Meantime, I got the check. I know you're usually strapped for cash, so don't worry about it."

Roxas envisions the underside of his mattress and thinks differently.

A humble silence falls upon the two as Pence places munny on the bill, but Roxas' head feels noisy. What he wouldn't give to forget everything that happened over the past few days… it was supposed to be easy to step on that train next month, leaving behind only somber goodbyes and good memories. Now, leaving this place with so many loose ends will only make it all the more complicated.

Was leaving the best idea in the first place?

The thought left Roxas' mind hollow. It was an option he had never taken into consideration.

He looked at Pence again, and imagined what life would be like if they were together. It was a brief image that brought a strange warmness to Roxas' heart.

As if possessing some insane telekinesis, Pence very plainly, but hopefully, asks "So, maybe we should do this again sometime. Like, uh… just you and me. On a…" He bites his lip and lowers his voice, "You know… a date."

Of course it has to get worse.

Roxas' urge to repeatedly slam his head into the table is almost unbearable—this is almost too much to bear. He wants to say yes so very badly but August is encroaching fast, and if he wants to keep his initial plan he simply can't.

_But should I keep that plan?_

Another lapse of a hollowed mind. He can easily afford the Community College that Hayner, Pence and Olette are going to after senior year. It certainly is more affordable than the 611,720 munny a year he would have to pay for the initial college he chose. He can still skip senior year, like he planned on, and use it to work. Roxas could definitely make enough money over that time to cover the community college costs, on top of what he has left, and transfer the credits. If he can't make up enough money for his originally chosen college by then, there are numerous other ones that have already begged for his admission.

But all that, just to go out with Pence?

Ideally, it would be to stay with all of his friends, but what if things fall through? What if he regrets changing his plan? He'll ultimately have to stay with his dad for another god-awful year; he can't exactly afford getting another place if he'll be saving up for tuition, even if he's 18.

Roxas glances over to Pence, and sees that determined gleam in his brown eyes. Roxas only sees that look when Pence is so set on something he can't possibly back down.

_Well,_ Roxas considers, _I do have a whole month to decide whether or not to change my plans._

"That…" Roxas mutters, "Sounds like a good idea." For once, he smiles at Pence first. Pence smiles back, and reaches over the table to grasp Roxas' hand—

"Still here, ladies?" Seifer's hideous drone reaches Roxas' ears more aggressively than usual. Something seems different… more hostile… competitive, even? "You must be quite doe-eyed this evening." Seifer's grasp assumes its previous position, albeit more roughly than before, and Roxas' suspicions become more prevalent. There's something that's upset the tough blond; just about everything seems off with him today.

"You really seem to need some context." Pence's gaze is unafraid, especially now that he can rival Seifer's height. "Two hungry teenagers waiting for a friend to show up decide to have some food and chill out." Pence slowly stands, unwavering. "Is that example better for your intellect?"

Suddenly Seifer is upright and in his face; all illusions of self-satisfactory humor have vanished. The look in the man's blue eyes say murder, and Roxas swears he can see electricity shooting between them.

"Listen here, Pence." Seifer's tone is more serious than Roxas has ever heard it before, "Know your place. You both should." A twisted, sickening smirk curls at the man's thin lips. "After all, there are plenty ways to smash a bug… besides force."

They stand there for a moment, and Roxas fearfully moves his gaze. He notices Seifer is holding something, but before he can further examine it, the tall blond turns and leaves without another word.

Pence relaxes back into his chair with a sigh of relief. "Oh man, same height or not, that dude is still scary as hell."

Roxas, feeling somewhat useless, mutters out "I'm sorry." When Pence throws him a questioning look, he continues. "I just feel like I can't stand up to Seifer like I used to. Suddenly he's much more aggressive, and I end up avoiding him rather than just facing him like you or Hayner can."

Pence reaches over and grasps his hand, "Roxas, please," His voice is soothing, but encouraging. "Maybe now it's just better to avoid conflict. One day, when you feel like you_ can_ stand up to Seifer, I'm sure you'll kick his ass six ways from Thursday!"

A warm smile adorns Pence's face, and it's contagious. "Yeah," Roxas responds, "One of these days I'll find that strength… but for now you just gotta be my bodyguard," He chuckles, "Or hiding spot, since you're so damn tall…"

Pence laughs and pulls his hand away just as Olette is upon the scene, hands adorning various shopping bags.

* * *

After that, Roxas had accompanied Olette and Pence on their shopping-spree across the still-nearly-empty Tram Common. Pence and Roxas resolved to keep their new "relationship" a secret, so as to avoid any backlash or problems. Pence had stolen a peck here and there, or even managed to get a hold of Roxas' hand, somewhat like a ninja; Roxas could have sworn the taller man had previous experience with this or something. It was almost fun being so sneaky, and the thrill of it brought a refreshing excitement Roxas had not felt for a long time. Never once did he kiss first, though, for fear his own lack of ninja skills would get them screwed over. The enjoyment he had felt slowly dissipated the negative emotions stirring in him, and the Hayner incident was nearly forgotten.

A couple hours into their trip, Olette had stumbled upon a pretty dress for a low price. "In my favorite color too!" She exclaims, holding the creamsicle colored, halter strapped sundress against her petite figure. "It's perfect for tonight!" Her delight radiates around her, and her shopping companions can't help but feel happy for her.

Now that their little adventure was over, Olette makes her way home to further prepare for her date, and Pence offers to walk Roxas to his house before accompanying Olette for even more help. They had stopped beneath the bridge beside the hole in the wall at the Tram Common.

"No, I'm okay," He leaned his back against the brick, "I'll just cut through the Sandlot and take the Back Alley way home," This way he can use the fire escape to retire to his "almost-as-usual" usual spot, as Hayner called it. "Maybe after you're done helping Olette, we can hang out again." The words came out so easily, Roxas was almost surprised—normally he's never first to initiate social activities. Even Pence seems surprised at Roxas' notion, as his face reads slight bewilderment.

After recomposing himself, Pence replies, "Well, I have a couple errands to run in Sunset Terrace where Olette and Hayner are having their date. If you're not busy, I'll be there until about nine o'clock, so feel free to come find me.

Roxas couldn't help but smile in another short lapse of excitement. "It's a date th—"

Suddenly he is cut off when Pence swoops down and captures his lips in an aggressive kiss. The taller man grips Roxas' hips and pulls him close while simultaneously pressing him up against the wall. Roxas is in a bit of shock, but finds himself kissing Pence back and resting his hands against the brunet's nape for some support; he forces back the sensation of déjà vu, and the guilty memories of Hayner are slowly replaced with new, enticing memories of Pence. The taller man's hands roam up Roxas' back and said blond grips eagerly at Pence's shoulders, letting out a soft noncommittal moan in the process. One of Pence's hands stray from the path and quickly snakes down to give Roxas a firm grope that makes him squeak in surprise. Roxas is disappointed when Pence breaks away, but the feeling quickly disappears when the brunet starts to leave a trail of nips all across the blond's exposed neck. Roxas sighs, and feels himself arching into Pence while running his fingers through the tall man's soft brown hair. Eventually, Pence pulls away, leaving Roxas clearly flustered and highly aroused.

"Sorry," Pence smiles, "I had to get that out of my system while I still had the chance for today." He gives Roxas a pat on the cheek, and a quick wink. "I find you quite irresistible."

Roxas laughs, "I don't mind, I enjoyed it."

There's a bizarre chirp, and Pence takes out his phone. He groans, and Roxas immediately understands it's an impatient text from Olette. "I gotta go," Pence sighs, "but hopefully I'll see you sometime later, if possible."

He gives Roxas another peck and quickly jogs out of sight. Still flushed, Roxas takes a moment to bask in the long-lost sense of serenity he thought was gone forever. After a peaceful moment, he begins his stroll through the Sandlot; feeling good enough to walk rather than skateboard. He's ready to enjoy the rest of this day, knowing it won't last, as he savors every last feeling of harmony.

Stopping near the entrance to the Back Alley, he takes a moment to reflect. He mulls over his plans to leave, his newfound feelings for Pence, and the strange events that have seemed to follow him lately. It's all slightly bizarre, and he put into question the worth of his plan: skip senior year, flee to Dusk City, make some insane munny, go to the college of his dreams, and finally be free of Twilight Town's tyranny. The overview seems flawed, but each intricate detail he's placed between the lines over six years is nearly flawless. Work odd jobs every other day plus all weekend, save all money under mattress, buy a laptop that no one knows about, get a basic Wifi plan, take online credits to skip senior year, get a prepaid cell phone no one knows about, pack old clothing items for a quick leave, save all upcoming or current train schedules plus maps, make a keepsake box no one knows about, prepare a leaving note—

He feels a slight drop in his stomach. Saying goodbye shouldn't be that easy; not even to his father, and especially not to his friends. He planned to make each note simple and relatively heartfelt, so as not to come off as a suicide note or something of the like. It had to be vague, so no one would go looking for him, but reassuring, to leave room for hope on his return. Roxas was never a writer… most attempts led to him making some sort of origami figure with his writing material. While it channeled his frustration, it still didn't get the job done.

Roxas wonders whether he should write a collective letter for all three of his friends, or one for each individual friend. What would he say to Hayner? Would he chastise him for his dumb actions, or reflect on their better times? He would probably never leave such bitter words for such a great friend, so the latter seems ideal. What would he say to Olette? Would he divulge Hayner's infidelity? _Definitely not,_ Roxas thinks, _I don't want to leave them in such a bad condition… they'd probably think I'm even worse of a friend than they might already be thinking._ Then there's Pence… going about the odd little "fling" they had would be the most difficult of all to write about. He didn't even know where to start—

A cold chill runs down Roxas' spine, and a bad feeling pools in his gut.

Suddenly, he feels a tight grip on the back of his head—strong fingers ensnaring his hair—and a hand presses against his mouth just as he yelps. Roxas is reeled back, and he watches in vain as his vision accelerates toward the wall closest to him.

After an explosion of pain in his skull, everything goes black.

* * *

_Exeunt_

* * *

A note from MHC: Happy 12/12/12!

Ladies and gents, let's get down to business.

Jesus, this series has consumed my life… It's gonna be great though, I promise! I've already got about 80 percent written, now it's just a matter of editing and choosing when to submit each chapter (I'm trying to pick interesting dates for my own amusement).

I know the whole Pence and Roxas thing is a bit bizarre, but chill out and try to imagine Pence as this tall, attractive dude who doesn't look too bad with Roxas. Better? No? Well, shit. At least you're through it now right?

Seriously you guys, I'm feeling really confident about _The Night_. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for sticking with my lame ass through all of this. Expect some neat little side stories here and there while I polish upcoming chapters. Don't forget to _**leave me a review**_, and if you have any ideas for what you'd like to see (be it this fanfic or others) let me know! Who knows? I might take your advice!

Final note for any confused readers: This IS a SoRoku fanfiction! At this point in time, I'm focusing on character and story development, so when you get to the point where Sora and Roxas meet, the plot focus can remain on them.

With love, -Hannah.


	3. II: Backbiting

**The Night**

Chapter II: _Backbiting_

* * *

_**April 8**__**th**__**, 2023**_

_7 pm, and his odd job is done just in time for the sun to be sinking in the sky._

_The shopkeep turns the corner, just as Roxas hoists the last box into the delivery truck, and flashes a wrinkled grin at the teen._

"_Another job well done, my boy," He remarks in his old, kind voice. "In record time too! My stars, if any of my full-time employees worked as hard as you, I could be sittin' on the beach at Destiny Islands for my retirement even sooner!"_

_Even though Roxas has heard similar compliments from the same man over the years, it never ceases to bring a smile to his face. __Poor guy has been trying to retire since Roxas was a child, but his greedy kids have been keeping him far from it._

"_Thank you, sir. I'm glad I could help."_

"_Such a polite young man! My stars, if my wife, God rest her soul, had the pleasure of meeting you—why, she'd go ahead and pluck you__ up and call you her son right on the spot!"_

_Another oft-heard comment, but Roxas laughs anyway—the thought of belonging to a different family __is a joy in itself. He has met this elder's wife before, back when he was about 15. He, Hayner, Olette, and Pence went on a rescue mission for her lost cat (who was actually sitting on the roof of her shop the whole time). Still, the joy in her withered face upon the feline's return was reward enough for their actions. She died about a year after that, an injury of some sorts, and her husband took over the business shortly thereafter._

"_Well now, Roxas, you better hurry home before it's dark." The man reached into his pocket, pulled out some __munny, counted it, and then handed it__ to the teen with a gentle smile._

_When Roxas got it, he counted it himself: 700 munny._

"_Uh, sir," He looked up to the chipper man, confused. "This is 700, my part-time pay is only 300."_

"'_All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them'," He croaked solemnly. "A wise man once said that. My boy, I can tell you have a dream that you are pursuing wholeheartedly. I can see that same spark in your eye my wife had when she opened this little shop, and just like with her, you have my support."_

_A warmth crept into Roxas' chest, and he pocketed the munny without further complaint. "Thank you, sir. That means more to me that you can possibly realize."_

"_Now! On your way, young man! You've done enough for this old coot, you needn't spend the rest of your night here!" He shooed Roxas off, and the teen waved goodbye as he left—grabbing his skateboard off the ground as he did._

_Aiming for Market Street, Roxas decided to walk rather than ride. The early summer warmth was nice, and the stillness of the streets was also something to be appreciated. It seemed utterly empty considering it's Saturday, but then, Roxas figured, all the action is around the Tram Common or __in Sunset Terrace. Market Street is usually tame if it's not the early morning__, after school, or 5 o'clock rush. Lazy, quiet days like these are what Roxas lives for, and they almost make living in this awful place tolerable._

If only,_ is a consistent thought of his. _If only it were that simple; this alone could be reason to stay. If only…

_But tranquility begets chaos, and liars beget corruption which begets ruin. A town of fresh paint over the rotting canvas that slowly eats into the vibrant pigments. You can paint this town in whatever light, or with whatever perspective, but that canvas will devour each and every stroke with the truth, no matter what you do. So Roxas stomachs the truth, but at least this temporary painting is pretty enough to enjoy while it lasts._

_That's when he sees it._

_A splotch of black that suddenly worked it's way into the portrait—literally._

_A lanky, hooded man in a long black cloak strides down from the top of the Market Place; each step taken as if he's stepping forth from the shadows themselves. Despite his graceful stride, he seems turned around—as if looking for something lost or forgotten. He certainly doesn't look like he belongs here, and Roxas is positive he hasn't seen this figure before. Hell, the guy stands out so much, Roxas is surprised he hasn't at least _heard_ of such a sight—in _this_ town of all places…_

_So, of course, Roxas goes to investigate; more so out of curiosity than courtesy._

_A few feet into his pursuit, Roxas noticed the man is holding a small piece of paper toward which his head was tilted. About halfway up the street, he was merely a yard-and-a-half away from the stranger, who was still intent on their paper. The tall figure didn't seem to notice him at all._

"_Excuse me," Roxas called out, and the man jumped in fright. Suddenly, the figure seemed panicked, as his hooded head was turning in nearly every direction. Regardless, Roxas continued, "Are you lost? I don't believe I've seen you around here."_

"_No, no, no," A suave, friendly (familiar?) voice drifted from the hood, "I'm fine, I thought I got this place memorized, and then—"_

"_Wait," Roxas interrupted him; he recognized this strange man's voice somehow. "Do I… know you?"_

_There was a long, awkward pause. Roxas' eyes looked deeply into the darkness of the hood to no prevail, but he was sure he knew this person from somewhere, even if the dark cloak was unfamiliar. There was something there, in the back of his memories, gnawing on his brain._

_And then, "Holy shit," the man chortled. "No way. Roxas?"__ Gloved hands pulled back the hood to reveal a shock of fire-red hair and grinning emerald eyes. "__Is that really you?"_

_Hit with a full wave of realization, Roxas' eyes go wide as the memories overload his brain—all but one. A name._

"_You're—" He splutters, "You… You're… uh…"_

"_Talk about blank with a capital B—you really don't remember? It's me!" __The redhead exclaimed,__ face alight with joy. "You know… Axel!"_

_Roxas mirrored the look just then, and the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.__ He slammed his hand against his forehead, laughing hysterically. "How can I forget the kid who almost set our elementary school on fire?!"_

"_So you remember that…" He chuckled heartily, "__I'm so flattered!"_

"_I guess I just committed it to memory."_

_They both laughed, and Axel moved in to embrace him in a friendly hug, which Roxas returned wholeheartedly._

_"It's been so long," Axel's muffled voice floated from Roxas' shoulder. "How's my best friend been? How's Twilight Town?"_

_Roxas pulled away from the hug, but both men still held onto eachother's elbows. "Too long, you mean. I've been just about as good as the town..."_

_Axel grimaced. Though his childhood memories of Twilight Town were fading, he knew this was for certain: "That's not good at all."_

_"You're telling me," Roxas shrugged, "And what about you? I haven't heard from you since you moved."_

_It seemed like so long ago... much longer than it actually has been. Axel and his family left for Dusk City right at the end of seventh grade. After their leave they were deemed crazy for taking a child to what is otherwise considered to be Hell. Meanwhile, all the children just thought he moved because he nearly burnt the school to the ground with simply a box of matches and a stuffed Moogle plush. He was a hero in their eyes ever since, and Roxas was lucky enough to call himself Axel's best friend._

_"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," He broke from the grasp to rub his neck in shame. "My parents didn't let me contact anyone from Twilight Town. As time went on I just kind of... gave up. Moved on." He threw his arms up, smiling. "But hey! I'm here now! At least for a while."_

_Roxas gave him a bemused face. He is about four years younger than Axel, but somehow they had a strong connection, and it was suddenly pulled from beneath his feet like a slick rug; that was very devastating as a child. Of course Axel's sudden presence didn't make up for years of wondering and absence, but Roxas was happy about it none-the-less._

_"Speaking of, how have your parents been?" Axel prodded him, still chipper._

_"Well my dad has hit the bottle pretty hard, and my mom-" Roxas suddenly choked. "My mom she... well..." The words caught on his tongue like a hook: everyone knew about his mother. In this place something like that is nearly impossible to miss. For a whole month after the incident, every conversation was filled with condolences but never did Roxas ever start them. It was always someone else sharing their grief, and since everyone knew, he never had a chance to really _say it_. Not to _anyone_._

_"My mom is... well, a year after you left..."_

"Deep breath, Roxas," _Something familiar echoes in his head,_ "Breathe in… now out. Tell me what happened."

_Roxas sucked in a breath, and braced himself as if a tsunami was coming his way. "She's dead. My mom is... dead."_

_Axel's face fell._

_"Holy shit... I think we need to catch up."_

_They walked all the way from that spot to the Tram Common's hole in the wall; talking the entire time. Roxas filled Axel in on his life, and vice versa. It turns out Axel's family moved mostly because of a job offering for his mother, and partly because of the fire incident (a smart move, considering it's Twilight Town). Once Axel hit 16 he scored an amazing job and filed for emancipation from his parents. It was granted just before his mom and dad planned to move halfway across the world for the same reason as before, and he's heard little from them since. Meanwhile, he's been doing pretty good in Dusk City, has two roommates (one of which is his boyfriend) and came to Twilight Town as part of his job._

_"Is that your work uniform then?" Roxas asked, looking amusedly at his cloak. "Suit and tie just didn't work out or something?"_

_Axel chuckled and leaned his back against the wall beside the hole. "Hey! For your information I do have a suit and tie. This is just my field uniform." From his pocket he uncovered a pack of cigarettes, Moogle 100s, and pulled one out of the box with his lips._

_"Smoking? Really?" Roxas rubbed a temple and chuckled at the taller man. "Fire really is your thing, isn't it?"_

_"You have no idea," Axel cupped a hand over the cancer-stick and reached his other hand up as if he had a lighter. After a short pause, during which Axel glanced uncomfortably at Roxas, he let out an awkward laugh before reaching into another pocket. "Heh heh, ahh so used to having this thing _in my hand_ all the time... so to speak..." He brandished a lighter adorned with-of course-flames and a little VIII scribbled in silver permanent marker across it's surface. "My boyfriend thinks it's sexy."_

_"Oh really?" Roxas leans on the wall next to him. "Your boyfriend sounds odd."_

_Axel made a smug face, and flicked the lighter on behind his cupped hand. "Well he is a musician."_

_Roxas titled his head back in a bid to out-smug his old friend. "Do tell."_

_Axel took a short drag before speaking through the smoke. "You should hear some of the music he plays, Roxas." He let out a longing sigh; granting the remaining smoke in his lungs freedom. "The way he strums those chords with those hands, and looks at me with those big, ocean blue eyes..." Axel hummed in content as he took another, longer drag from the cigarette. "So fuckable."_

_"Okay, okaaay loverboy," Roxas laughed, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You got me. That's all the info I need."_

_"Whatever you say, but you asked for it." He ruffled Roxas' hair. "So you said you're a senior next year. Got any plans afterward?"_

_A sudden, strange feeling washed over Roxas: for the first time ever, he felt like he could tell someone about his convoluted plans for the future. Axel doesn't live here, and at the moment, his only ties to the Town of Terror are Roxas and that mission of his. This strange feeling felt so liberating and light... it was relief. It was so powerful Roxas was thankful for leaning against the wall earlier because he really could collapse from it._

_He took a nice, fresh gulp of air,_

_"Well..."_

_And he told Axel everything. Everything down to the raw detail, and with each little bit he shared he felt the weight on his shoulders slowly chip away. God it felt good, like escaping the grasp of a looming shadow that followed from what seemed like so long ago. Afterward, he felt like a ragdoll: relaxed, happy, free. He savored the moment because, like all good things, he knew it was only temporary... but fuck was it damn, damn good._

_"So you're thinking of making a great escape to Dusk City, huh?" Axel smiled down at his friend mid-drag, who looked overtly content. "You know it's dangerous."_

_"Yeah, all those spooks. So scary." Roxas chuckled. However, Axel frowned._

_"I mean it, Roxas. Do you know what's out there?" Before Roxas could answer, Axel interrupted. "And there are no 'spooks', they've outlawed necromancy because of that a while ago. Do you know how long it took u-_them_ to liberate all those souls? Plus the vampires, werewolves, gargoyles, and casters are nothing to scoff at."_

_Suddenly, Roxas was less sassy and more interested. "Casters?"_

_Axel sighed, "I don't even know why I'm telling you this-anyway, Casters are witches and warlocks. W-_they,_ they cleared out the ghosts. They manage all the creatures of the night, for lack of better term. Keep them in line, bring them to justice, et cetera."_

_"I see... well, if it's so structured, I should be fine then. Especially if you're on the clock."_

_Axel pinched the bridge of his nose. "God damn-wait..." He looked at Roxas, plainly confused. "What?"_

_"I'm not dumb Axel, I heard you almost say 'us' and 'we'. You're part of them aren't you? Is that your stellar job: waving your magic wand, bibbity-bobbity-booing all the monsters away?"_

_Axel took a long, long drag of his cancer-stick, eyes never leaving Roxas', and it was clear that he was very obviously stalling. It was only after he let the smoke go in a slow, drawn out breath that he spoke._

_"I'll tell you what," His hand slipped into his pocket yet again, this time brandishing a business card. "Call me when you get to Dusk City. I'll put a good word in with the boss for you in the meantime; and if you land the job and make it to the city, you'll get to learn all about what I do. Got it memorized?"_

_Roxas took the card, unsatisfied with the response. However, a job's a job, and if it's Axel who's recommending it, why the hell not?_

_They parted ways soon after that; Axel, having nearly forgotten about his mission, disappeared into the hole in the wall to complete it. A few weeks later Roxas received a package in the mail. Inside was a coat, (just like Axel's, but tailored for Roxas) and a note. He stored them in his keepsake box, along with Axel's business card._

* * *

**July 2****nd****, 2024**

It's all reeling.

Roxas' vision betrays him with hordes of doppelgangers; everything in his sight is a copy of a copy of a copy. His pounding skull isn't helping matters either, as every step he's forced to take is a losing battle against his failing balance. His body jerks foreword, and that's when Roxas notices a rather large arm is the only thing keeping him from tumbling into either a crumpled mess or oblivion.

He isn't quite sure of the difference.

This big blurry mess has a familiar sense to it, as he finds himself subconsciously avoiding obstacles he isn't sure of, while wanting to take memorized steps down a particular path.

It's the Back Alley, so close to home.

He's way passed the Usual Spot now, and his captor is pulling him toward what he can only presume is the underground concourse. Originally intended for easier town maintenance, it has evolved into a student hideaway during the school year. In the summertime, it is virtually empty save for some morning commuters going for a jog or frisky teenagers looking to bang or toke at 3 am.

Warily, Roxas makes an attempt to struggle by pushing the arm around his waist—lead limbed—to no avail. While napping seems ideal for his vehement migraine, Roxas can't bring himself to give up so easily. He tries to clumsily slip out of the tight grasp, and when that doesn't seem to work, he jabs his feet into the ground to act as an anchor. Everything he tries fails miserably, his body better off limp at this point, and the suddenly tightened grip his captor has reinforces that.

Before he knows it, they're under the neon 3 sign hanging over the entrance of the concourse; the darkness of the tunnel becomes apparent against the fleeting sunset haze, and he blacks out again.

* * *

Sensing awareness, Roxas is struck by another pounding headache with a vengeance—on top of that, the space beneath his side is cold, gravelly, and quite uncomfortable. Once more, a murky stupor fights his conscious, but at the very least he manages to struggle for a more comfortable position. Rolling onto his back, Roxas' head swims, and he lets out a groggy groan at the momentary vertigo. Is this a concussion? Roxas runs through a list of symptoms in his head, and deems it the likeliest problem.

_At least they aren't very serious issues… I'd rather not visit the emergency room today if I don't have to._

He cracks open his eyes to the gentle yellow lighting of the underground concourse; the russet ceilings and brick walls surrounding him are clear, and Roxas is relieved to have his regular vision back. Blinking into reality, he does his best to piece together what happened—the only apparent fact that stands is him getting knocked the fuck out.

"_Deep breath, Roxas,"_ Something familiar echoes in his head, _"Breathe in… now out. Tell me what happened."_

_I was on my way home when I stopped to think… that's when it happened._

Who hit him, though, and why? After taking a moment to ponder this, Roxas curses as his hands fly down to check his pockets for missing items. Wallet, house key, crumpled up receipt and—a mint… Nope, his captor did not mug him, apparently. If they did, the best they'd get is a school I.D., a couple punch cards, or that mint. He allows himself a sigh of relief. Still on his back, he isn't sure what to make of this odd assault.

And then he hears it.

"Good evening…" A sudden venom fills Roxas' bloodstream as the sickening words slither into his skull like a cold snake. "…_Rucksack_."

He sits up quickly, uncaring of whatever spinning sensation that may waver him, and stares into the cerulean gaze looking wickedly upon him. It is then Roxas takes into account the fact his legs are dangling off some sort of ledge—one of the large steps used to reach a maintenance panel in a more secluded part of the concourse.

Cautiously, Roxas snarls, "To what do I owe the pleasure, _Seifer_?" He is on his guard now that he is aware of this newfound threat.

"Quick on the draw, as always, Rucksack," Seifer chuckles, "I thought it'd take you even a little longer than that to respond. Nasty head injury and all, but hey, at least you didn't bleed."

While Roxas' vision is swimming slightly, it has not stopped him from calculating his escape. He doesn't know these tunnels as well as he ought to, but he knows his freedom is neon; the entire place is scattered with signs indicating the different exits. Unfortunately, there are only two ways out of this particular alcove: above, where the steps lead to a small window, or the main opening that leads directly to the concourse… which is right where Seifer is standing.

_Fuck._

"You know," Roxas tries to make small talk—anything to give him extra time to devise a plan. "If you needed to chat, there are more polite ways of getting my attention."

_There's no way Seifer would make such an extraordinary effort to just __**talk**__._

Roxas is ready to pull some secret agent shit where he makes his awesome departure right after the villain reveals a crazy plot to take over the world (or something cliché like that). In this condition, he isn't sure he'll be going anywhere… pushing passed Seifer is a definitive no-go, and it's plausible the bully would reach him before Roxas could safely climb the maintenance steps. At this point, he would have to get on his feet to fully recover from this awful haze before any kind of mad dash to safety is attempted.

"I've got reasons, you'll see." Seifer drawls, watching him carefully. "Meantime, you're probably clueless as to why you're here. Need me to elaborate?"

Here it comes: the manifesto. Or is it the monologue? Either way, things seem to be falling into place, so Roxas decides to play along.

"Yes, actually. It would make this predicament much clearer."

He waits patiently for Seifer to distract himself—the opportune moment to slide onto his feet and take one step closer to freedom. But instead, Seifer just watches him; looking up and down his frame as if he were marveling a famous painting.

"Shit, you've changed. Most guys get ballsier as they age, but you somehow devolved into some wussy."

Then, Seifer takes a step.

"I remember that struggle tournament where you stepped up to the plate like some galactic hero tryin' to save the universe. You were standin' there, all high and mighty, ready to take me down. Me, right above Setzer on the winner ladder." Step. "I remember the look on your face when you won—champion. Everyone's cheers: 'Roxas, Roxas'." Step. "I remember these three years where I've been the plague. I kept wondering where your spine had run off to, why you were off sulking and not rubbing it in." Step.

Suddenly, Roxas' plan seems foiled.

"Now, I'm going to remember your face at this moment. This is when I remind you of how desperate you were, Roxie." Step, step, step… "How simply pitiful you were, just before you finally confronted me. How your eyes followed me in the hallways, how desperately you sought me out in the crowd."

Suddenly, the realization dawns on Roxas. While the details of why he is here are still fuzzy, a sudden pain in his chest makes one thing clear: this is pure scorn.

"You're just so cute in all of your little secrets that you could hide from your friends, but not from the one you despise the most—me. The one you so adorably fawned over… and then that day. Do you remember what I did? I hit you so hard, you skipped school for a whole week." A sick, twisted smile is plastered on Seifer's smug face.

The memory hurts Roxas too much. It was freshman year. He was only ever lightly picked on by Seifer then, and for some reason Roxas was struggling with emotions over the bully. But that one love letter he never intended on sending, that he was on his way to toss in the trash, plucked from his grasp like a glass slipper…

His fate was sealed, like that letter had once been.

"It was precious. You were under my thumb for so long, just because of that little fact. And I didn't share it—no, no—how could I just let go of my personal punching bag? And then you finally defied me, and thought you could scamper off with your tail between your legs and never hear from me again."

When that struggle tournament came up, Roxas had his chance to finally wriggle from Seifer's grasp. After his defeat, Seifer's word, while revered throughout Twilight Town, would be looked upon as a spiteful lie against Roxas' victory. It worked. Roxas was mostly free from the man's physical cruelty, and after carefully planned avoidance, was nearly free of his verbal abuse as well.

"Just what exactly do you want?" Roxas bites out, unsure of what this is all leading to. Revenge? A personal vendetta? If he's going to get beaten to a pulp, he's tired of the tension. He can take what is dealt to him. "I'm not getting any younger here."

"Well, Roxie, I'm lettin' you know I've changed my mind." One more step, and now Seifer is only a couple feet away, and Roxas can clearly see the overconfident man up close in all his self-proclaimed glory. However, something seems off… "I want more power over you, more than I've ever had. So here's my proposal."

Seifer reaches into his pocket, and it is then Roxas notices a pair of binoculars—an accessory revered by the Disciplinary Committee—clipped to his belt. Out from his pocket, the man reveals a small, nondescript device with a piece of tape hanging off of it.

"What kind of a proposal is this?" Roxas tries to mask his confusion with sarcasm. "That's certainly not a ring box."

Seifer's thumb clicks down on a button, and a short bleep is heard. There is silence.

Roxas scoffs. "I'm still not getting the point—"

_"Whatever losers,"_ Seifer's voice crackles from the box. _"Enjoy your date."_

Déjà vu.

A pause, then _"Listen, Hayner told me everything: loving Olette, wanting to hook up with other people," _Roxas feels a sharp twist in his stomach,_ "and even the thing between you two."_

It's a tape recorder. The memory of Seifer gripping the table in that peculiar way flashes through Roxas' mind, along with the object he spotted in the man's grasp shortly after, and suddenly he feels sick.

_"Pence, why are you—"_

"_Please, I just want to say, I'm sorry it had to come to that. He tried to make a move on me too, but I shot him down. Just try not to worry about it, okay?"_ Roxas somehow manages to remember Pence's touches and wishes he would have just tagged along when he had the chance. _"Besides, he'd never out you like that, especially not to save his own ass. He only told me because he knows he can trust me."_

Seifer presses the button again before taking on a disturbingly proud demeanor. Roxas is simply dumbfounded, and his thoughts don't seem to be cooperating with him.

Seifer snickers. "I understand you enjoyed your little date."

"What do you want?" Roxas mutters, eyes downcast. "What could you possibly want?"

"Oh, but that isn't even the best part, Roxie…"

Slipping a hand into his other pocket, Seifer retrieves three pieces of paper.

Roxas' heart sinks, and he feels another sudden wave of nausea wash over him

They're photographs, clearly depicting the rooftop incident with Hayner. Roxas eyes are drawn to the binoculars—remembering from somewhere the fact they have telephoto lens.

"My, my, the way you two were going at it I could have sworn you were a couple. Oh, but wait…" Seifer bends over, leering into Roxas' gaze, "Doesn't Hayner have a _girlfriend_? It'd be a shame if she saw these… or heard what you and fatty were keeping from her. Why, I think these would just about destroy all four of your relationships."

The bitter pinprick of tears sting at Roxas' eyes. What motive could Seifer have in all of this? What in this wide world does he want?

That'd when it hits him.

Everything fits into the puzzle, and that's when Roxas realizes…

He's being blackmailed into submission once more.

Knowing he's been defeated, Roxas lets the tears go. "You win, Seifer." He chokes out, "What do you _want from me_?"

"Look up here, Roxas."

Strangely enough, it's one of the few times Roxas has heard Seifer use his actual name. He obeys, humiliated that he's let himself shed tears—knowing the man doesn't deserve the satisfaction. Through a bleary gaze he watches as Seifer simply stares. He flinches when the man reaches toward him and brushes a hand through his hair.

"Remember what I said?" His voice is low, calm… too calm. "How I've changed my mind? I've been struggling with this weird feeling, Roxas, ever since that tournament. What a coincidence, huh? I've been biding my time, waitin' for the next moment I could make you my silent punch doll. But something about seeing those little assholes all over you, almost like you were _their _property… it made me realize something. I want to _own_ you. That feeling? Jealousy. I didn't have control over you anymore."

Suddenly Seifer grips Roxas' hair, pulling his head back, and Roxas gasps. Seifer leans close, right next to his ear, and takes in Roxas' scent. Roxas begins to struggle, but Seifer hardly notices as he continues to relish the moment.

"It took me so long to figure it out." He pulls back, and stares deep into Roxas' eyes. "God, you're like a little doll, you know? Your pretty little face, pretty pink lips," Roxas feels Seifer's fingers caress his lips and recoils. "Pretty little eyes, cute little body... I just want to tear you to pieces. You seem so fragile, but you're not. In fact, when I patrol with my binoculars I watch you. You sit on your roof like you're some kinda king, and fuck, it pisses me off every damn time. Your damn smug face, thinkin' you're better than the rest of us..." His grip tightens, and he grits his teeth. "But you're not. You're just like the rest of us, the same filth you tower over every day, just at a different height. And then I was doing my regular patrols the other day, and when I saw _Hayner,_" He hisses the name, "all over you, that's when I figured it out. I didn't want anyone else all over my property. I knew it'd require a lot to take you down, and this was my golden opportunity. I snapped those photos, and planned to get more dirt on you as soon as I could. I figured I'd get the photos, and get the spoken words, and everything would slide into place. And look where we are now."

"So what?!" Roxas bites out, impatient from the proximity. "Am I your little pet now? Are you taking me from my friends? What _do you want_?!"

Suddenly, there is a flash of light across Roxas' vision, followed by a painful stinging in his cheek. Seifer just slapped him, and while it isn't the worst hit Roxas has ever taken, it certainly caught his attention.

"Don't you GET IT Roxas?!" Seifer grips the front of Roxas' vest, shaking him violently. "You got it when _Hayner_ did it, you got it when _Pence_ did it! So here's your fuckin' wake up call: it's YOU! I want YOU! YOU are MY property now!" Seifer pulls him close, and Roxas can feel the hot breath on his face. "And I get to do whatever I want with you. I will beat you, I will spit on you..." A cruel grin twists Seifer's face, "And I will _especially_ FUCK you."

The gravity of the situation finally settles on Roxas, and he is almost certain every organ in his body dropped into his stomach. _This_ is what Seifer was planning? Roxas feels sick, more tears falling from his eyes, and he tries to pry Seifer's hands of his shirt. He needs to get out. If he's quick enough he could get up the stairs and out that window. Since Seifer is so close he could even escape onto the main concourse, though it's much riskier.

But what about the pictures and tape recording?

"Best part of all, you can have all the time with your friends you want. You can still laugh, and smile, and pretend like nothing ever changed. Then at the end of the day, when you've all parted ways, you're _mine. _And they wont know a single thing, because I can destroy all of you in less than a minute."

Roxas imagines a metaphorical bomb being tied to him, but the thought is suddenly stripped away when he feels Seifer lick a tear from his cheek. It makes Roxas want to vomit, but at the same time, he gets an idea.

"Okay Seifer. You win." He puts on his best defeated look, stomach turning, hoping what he will do next works. He stands, eyes cast elsewhere, as he lays his hands against the other man's broad chest. Seifer's hands fall to his sides in curiosity; Roxas knows Seifer loves being in control, so he plays the submission card as well as he can. He looks into his captors eyes before pushing himself onto his tiptoes, supporting himself on the taller man's neck. Seifer watches Roxas with hungry eyes, licking his lips. "I'll be your pet." Roxas whispers; it's sultry, but frightened, and Seifer is loving it.

Roxas tilts his head up and lays a gentle kiss against Seifer's lips-face twisting in disgust. Everything is still for a moment, and after receiving no response, he pulls back in confusion. Seifer sees the questioning in Roxas' face, and smiles eerily.

"I'm not convinced, Roxas." He sneers.

_Oh for the love of-_

"Here's a thought... kiss me like you kissed _them._ I'll do you one even better:do it, and I won't humiliate you for today. Deal?"

Roxas is taken aback slightly. His original plan was to get Seifer really into the kiss, hit him in the nuts, grab the evidence and run. While that still seems like the ideal action, Seifer's proposal might keep the pictures safe and give more time for ample planning. Still-Roxas feels his stomach churn again-it seems too good to be true. It's really the only option so far that keeps him and his friends safe, but maybe once Seifer's guard is down he can take up the original plan. Some kissing is a small sacrifice for the well-being of his friends, even though Roxas will hate himself for technically cheating on Pence.

Roxas takes a deep breath (it seems he's been doing that a lot lately).

"Deal."

Seifer looks down upon him smugly. "Go ahead then, _pet_."

The word sends an unwelcome shiver through Roxas' spine, but he complies. He pushes himself back up to Seifer's level, closes his eyes and melds his lips against Seifer's once more. First he imagines how Hayner kissed him, and how he kissed back. Though the memory is painful, on top of the fact it's the reason why he's in this mess, he pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on his goal. He remembers the hands that explored him, how that bite brought him into the moment, and how...

He slides his fingers into Seifer's hair beneath his hat, pulling him closer, his other hand gripping the taller man's jacket. He parts his lips, and flicks a tongue across Seifer's lips. It feels odd being the aggressor (especially since Seifer is being purposefully unresponsive) so Roxas lets go of the jacket to drag his nails across Seifer's exposed collarbone; hoping to warrant a response. Seifer takes in a sharp breath of air through his nose before gripping onto Roxas' hips and kissing back. Roxas scratches further and harder down Seifer's chest, and the taller man breaks away for a moment.

"You wanna play rough?" Seifer growls, "Let's play _rough_."

Seifer shoves Roxas back against the step and grinds into his hips. He maneuvers his tongue passed the smaller man's lips and Roxas grips Seifer's hair beneath his hat. Seifer grabs onto Roxas' backside to lift him onto the stair and force him onto his back. He breaks the kiss to drag his tongue from Roxas' chin up to his ear. Roxas can't help but moan as Seifer begins to bite at lick at his lobe while simultaneously roaming his hands across the smaller man's body.

Inside, Roxas just wants this to be over with. More and more he feels ashamed and begins to question whether or not he can go back to his friends in good conscience; especially Pence. He feels a twang of guilt deep in his heart as he thinks of Pence, and wants nothing more than this whole ordeal to end.

Just then, Seifer pulls back, and Roxas feels relieved it's over...

Until he notices Seifer is unzipping his pants.

**[****Trigger Warning****, read at your own discretion]**

"W-wait!" Roxas pleads, extremely confused. "I thought this is all we were going to do?!"

"Changed my mind." Seifer sneers. "Plus, we didn't shake on it."

Roxas feels his stomach drop, and a huge wave of panic washes over him. Going into fight-or-flight mode, he turns over and attempts to scramble up the stairs. He doesn't even make it halfway up the second stair before Seifer grabs him by the leg and yanks him back down. Roxas screams and begins to thrash for his freedom, but Seifer just continues to pull him closer, laughing all the while. Tears flow freely from Roxas' eyes as he feels Seifer yank down his pants. He's bent over the edge of the first stair now, ready to be taken.

"PLEASE!" He screams, "I'M A-" He sobs, "I'm a..."

"Go on Roxas. Say it." Seifer smiles, "I want to hear you say it: the best part about all of this."

"I'm..." Roxas sobs again. "A virgin."

He isn't ashamed of it, no... but to lose his virginity like this? To Seifer? To blackmail? To rape? He truly feels powerless, and that's exactly what Seifer wants.

"I'm honored to be popping your cherry, Roxas." He feels Seifer's hands slither up his back, pushing up his shirt. "Feels so good to finally break my little doll... my little _pet_..."

Roxas can feel his boxers being pulled down, and he begins to shake in terror. He imagined this moment would be awkward, but fun. He wanted to lose his virginity to someone he trusts and cares about, and who does the same for him-not this scumbag. He wants to fight, but what good will it do? He'll still get blackmailed, Seifer will still overpower him... if anything, the best thing to do is just wait for it to be over.

Still, he tries one last time.

"Please stop," Roxas says, "Not like this..."

His pleas go unheard, and Roxas hears Seifer spit into what he's certain is his palm. Shortly after, he feels Seifer against his entrance. At least he lubed up.

He braces for pain, and Seifer leans down to whisper into his ear:

"You're _mine._"

A sudden explosion of white-hot agony leaves Roxas screaming, and he feels the warm tears pour over his cheeks. He barely hears Seifer's groan of ecstasy as he begins to squirm beneath the taller man. Roxas is certain he's bleeding, the pain is excruciating, but all he can do is hope it ends soon and try not to think about it.

"Fuck... so tight..." Seifer groans as he pushes in deeper, and Roxas feels an awful crawling sensation on his skin in response.

Seifer is holding tight onto Roxas' hips and he begins to thrust at a regular pace. Roxas' nails dig into the cold concrete below, and he grits his teeth; making a pact with himself to not give Seifer the satisfaction of a response. As if on cue, a rather harsh thrust forces a yelp from Roxas' throat, and he sobs in frustration. The whole ordeal feels like an incredibly painful lifetime, and Roxas wishes he could just pass out or, better yet, wake up from this awful nightmare. He tries to shut out Seifer's groans and sighs, but they spin in his head like a tornado and won't go away.

Now Seifer picks up the pace, and he grips onto Roxas' hair as he leans down to his ear again. "Say my name," He mutters huskily, "Say you want more."

Roxas shakes his head the best he can under the conditions. Through gritted teeth he hisses out "_Fuck you._"

There is a sudden, violent thrust, and Roxas cries out. "_Say it._" Seifer growls at him, "Right fucking _now._"

"_FUCK_._ YOU_."

Roxas feels Seifer's nails dig deep into his back before being dragged down painfully slow. Roxas groans in pain as Seifer forces himself in as deep as possible, gripping the smaller man's hair tightly.

"You'll swallow my cum if you don't say it, fucker."

Biting his lip, Roxas whimpers._ As if this wasn't fucking humiliating enough..._

"S... Seifer," He whispers.

"You know that's not good enough. Here Roxas, let me help you." The taller man starts going at an incredibly fast pace, and the pain shoots through Roxas like a bolt of electricity. "Say it!" He grunts.

"S-Seifer!" Roxas cries out, "More!" He sobs, "_More!_"

_No more..._

After another few seconds, there is one long thrust and Roxas feels a sudden warmth inside of him. His eyes go wide in realization, and his tears return without hesitation. Seifer pulls out, and Roxas is relieved up until he feels the cum dripping down his thighs. Pulling up his pants, Seifer lets out a satisfied sigh, and Roxas flinches when the taller man runs his hands over Roxas' backside.

"Next time you'll be facin' me so I can see that pretty little face while I fuck you. Maybe I'll even grant you the privilege to suck my cock with your cute little mouth. Mmm, I almost can't wait... I want to see your pretty face covered in my cum." He gives Roxas' ass a light slap, before tossing his head back to laugh.

Roxas hurriedly pulls his pants up, uncaring about the fluids running down his legs. He turns to leave, eyes cast at toward the floor.

**[End of Trigger Warning]**

"Hey," Seifer stops him, forcing the smaller mans chin up. "The Sandlot. Saturday, 8pm. Be there." After a moment of hesitation, Roxas nods stiffly, and Seifer smirks before placing a rough kiss on the abused blonde's lips. "See you then, _my_ _little_ _pet_."

Roxas wrenches from Seifer's grasp, and swiftly leaves without another word. He follows the neon signs through the Underground Concourse as fast as he can; he doesn't want to be around if Seifer a second longer than he has to. Finally entering the Back Alley, the first thing he notices is the strip of pinkish orange sitting on the horizon beneath the encroaching night sky. Quickly, he ventures through the alleyway beside his house, passing the fire escape before turning the corner to reach his front door. It's unlocked, of course; neither he nor his dad usually ever bother to lock it unless it's completely necessary.

_Is dad still awake?_

It is long passed the time where Roxas would have come home and either spent the rest of the night in his room or sneak out via the almost-as-usual spot. He isn't sure what his father does after that, since it always varies.

Very gently, he opens the door and listens carefully through a small crack. All he can hear is the usual professional Struggle highlights. He mentally crosses his fingers, and enters the house as quietly as possible. Tiptoeing across the hallway, he peers around the corner to the couch. Sure enough, his dad is sitting there, watching the aforementioned program. Since Roxas can only see the back of his father's head, he isn't sure if he's awake or asleep. He bites his lip, knowing he could probably easily sneak up to his room since the stairs are right across from him.

Instead, just to be sure, he calls out. "Dad? I'm home."

His father twists around to look at him; surprisingly he looks more cleaned up than normal, and his eyes aren't as glazed over like they usually are.

"Roxas, you're home later than usual." His voice sounds groggy, but strangely sober.

"Yeah," Roxas steps out from behind the corner of the hallway, "I was just hanging out with my friends and the time got away from me."

"Well, I'm glad you're home safe. I was a bit worried is all."

Very confused, Roxas wants to ask if his dad is okay (perhaps make sure it's actually _his_ dad, even), but instead he resolves to fall into the routine. "Is there anything I can get you before I go to bed?" he asks; a list of all the locations of his father's alcohol ready in his mind.

"Water," his father says, "I'll have a water this time, Roxas."

_Curiouser and curiouser,_ Roxas thinks as he walks across the floor to the kitchen. He reaches into a cabinet, pulling out a glass before filling it with ice and water from the fridge. He returns to the couch, this time standing next to his father to hand him the glass.

His father grasps it gratefully, "Roxas I want to tell you something." Roxas kneels down next to his dad, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch. "'This above all: to thine own self be true'. That was your mother's favorite quote. Shakespeare's_ Hamlet_, I believe. I don't know why, I just had it on my mind. I wanted to share it with you."

Roxas looks into his father's glassy eyes, searching for any signs of who the man once was so long ago. His eyes seem heavy with guilt and regret: a common sight in this poison-town. "Thank you, dad. That does sound like mom," Roxas smiles gently, "My favorite quote is 'All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them'."

"That's a good one. Where'd you hear that?"

"The old guy who owns that little shop in town. He said a 'wise man' once said that... I'm not sure who that 'wise man' is, but it sounds like an accurate description."

His father nods, "You make a good point, Rox."

How long has it been since he's had a conversation like this with his father? Years, it seems. Perhaps back from when he was a child: the days before his mother hid bruises with her makeup, before Roxas would crawl into bed with his brother because the shouting from downstairs frightened him, and when the only alcohol in the house was the fine wine his parents saved for their anniversary. He looked deep into his father eyes; seeing the shards of a broken man who knew his son was just as broken because of it.

"Dad," Roxas starts, "I love you, and no matter what, I want you to always remember that." Strangely, the words seems familiar, as well as the feeling they bring. A sad nostalgia creeps into Roxas' heart, and his eyes well up with tears.

His father sips from the sweating glass and, looking into his son's suddenly gentle gaze, mutters, "Roxas, I love you too. I'm sor…" he pauses, "I… goodnight, son. Thank you for the water." For once in a very long time, his father has a soft smile on his face. Roxas does everything in his power to remember that small instance in every detail.

"Goodnight dad."

Roxas stands and proceeds toward the stairs and up to his bedroom. Once the door shuts behind him, he locks it. Practically ripping his clothing off, he runs into his bathroom to take a long shower. Stepping under the spout, he sets the temperature on the display and lets the hot water rush over him. Grabbing a bar of soap, he vigorously scrubs at his body as if he were intentionally trying to destroy his epidermis. No matter how red his skin gets, he still feels dirty down to his very core. Memories of the whole ordeal flash through his skull. He can feel the concrete against his face, hands gripping his hair, and the searing pain in his now-throbbing backside, so he scrubs harder and faster as Seifer fucks him harder and faster-

Roxas feels the tears in his sore eyes, and they disappear against the cascade of water from above. He lets out a strangled wail, and falls to his knees, still scrubbing away. He just wants to disappear. He never wants to see this place again. No one can save him now, and for the first time in his life, Roxas legitimately wants to _die_. Finally, he lets go of the soap and pulls his knees to his chest with a heavy sigh. At this point, it seems like the grave is his only escape.

Then it dawns on Roxas.

He still has Dusk City.

Standing up, Roxas turns off the spout but doesn't even bother to towel off as he leaves his bathroom. What did Pence say? The one train for this month is coming on Thursday? Roxas reaches under his bed and pulls out the satchel. Checking inside, he takes out this month's train schedule and confirms the information: Thursday, July 4th, at 7 am. He reaches under again, this time brandishing the backpack containing his laptop.

It's time to set his plan in motion.

* * *

Through the whole night, Roxas had tied up all the necessary loose ends before his long-awaited adventure. He applied for early graduation online, and was accepted within a few hours thanks to his extensive credits and his high school's cutting edge online system. Shorty after, he received a follow-up, automated email declaring they would send him his student transcript and official high school diploma in the mail. Not a moment after that, he's signing his final letter: the one for his dearest friends. He takes the time to make sure his autograph is perfect, for whatever reason. Maybe it is for him to feel less bad about leaving, maybe it is to give his friends something to remember him by... but he choses to leave the thought up in the air. Now is not the time to second-guess himself. After skimming over his letters (one to his friends, the other to his father, both handwritten), he takes a deep breath and deems them satisfactory. More importantly, genuine.

Checking the clock Roxas sees that it's already 8 pm. Writing these letters took all of Tuesday night into Wednesday evening, but they were certainly worth the effort. Looking over to his bed, Roxas stares at the cloak draped across it's surface. Beside it sits a wooden lacquered box, his backpack, and satchel. The coat is black as the night, and is almost foreboding; part of Roxas wonders if he would look like a shadow, similar to the way Axel did as the lanky man practically coasted around Twilight Town.

He packs up his computer in the backpack, and includes his dirty clothes from yesterday in a separate plastic baggie. Touching them, even through the plastic, feels revolting, but there can be no evidence of the ordeal left behind if he wants at least a whisper of dignity left in his wake. He can dispose of them once he reaches Dusk City, and that can be his own personal baptism of the past.

Roxas lifts the coat off the bed, and pulls it on over his arms and shoulders. Zipping it up, he immediately feels as if he is being held in a snug embrace. While form-fitting, the cloak is also very flexible and extremely comfortable, which is a definite plus. Roxas is not sure what this job offer entails, or what position he will take, but at least the uniform is cozy. Just for fun, he does a little spin and feels the coat swirl around him gracefully; very confident about the new "look" that will accompany his new life.

Finally he feels he is ready to pack his remaining belongings. He arranges his clothes inside the main compartment of the backpack around his computer, and slides the satchel into an exterior pocket of the backpack after pocketing the prepaid cellphone in his cloak. Roxas opens the lacquered box-his keepsake box-to double-check it's contents. A framed portrait of his family from when he was a child, a polaroid of him and his friends from when he was 15, the blue orb taken from the Struggle trophy, a silver necklace in the shape of an X passed down through his family, Axel's business card, and the note that came with his cloak in the mail. He puts the card and note in his coat pocket before packing the box away. Next, he lifts the mattress to scoop all the munny into his backpack before returning it to the bed base.

After leaving the letter to his father taped to his bedroom door, Roxas used his window to reach the almost-as-usual spot, then the fire escape to get to the Usual Spot. He pins the letter to his friends on the dart board with a dart, and after one last reminiscent look at the Usual Spot, leaves for Station Plaza with his hood pulled over his face.

At Central Station, Roxas approaches the ticket booth agent, who is obviously drowsy and probably unused to the graveyard shift.

"Good evening," The man drones, "What can I do for you?"

"Can I get one ticket for the 7 o'clock train into Dusk City?" Roxas slides the required amount of munny into the glass opening, careful to hide his face. Just as he wonders if the man is too tired to notice or care about his destination, the agent sits up in his seat and takes on a ghostly pallor.

"D-Dusk City?!" He splutters, suddenly much more awake, "I... um... of course sir!" He takes the munny and punches in the details on the register beside him. "Since you're going into the city we don't need a blood sample. Please note that _if_-" He coughs nervously, "_when_ you come back, you will have to give a blood sample for our records and for the safety of Twilight Town." He prints out the ticket.

"I understand," Roxas says, feeling almost bad for startling the man. At least he gave the guy an interesting turn of events after what appears to be a slow shift. Perhaps it'll be an interning story to bring home to his family, or to gossip about with his coworkers over the next break.

"Good luck... and uh, goodnight, sir." The agent mutters as if solemnly bidding farewell to a dying friend. He slides the ticket toward Roxas, still visibly shaken. "Please hold onto your ticket and enjoy your ride."

He takes the ticket and goes to sit in the waiting lobby adjacent from the train platform for the rest of the night. Central Station is always open 24 hours a day since the trains travel all over the world.

With time to kill, and nothing left on his agenda, he decides to call Axel. He takes his phone and Axel's card from his pockets and dials the number printed neatly at the bottom. As the dial tone drones on, he takes a moment to look over the design of the sturdy paper in hand. Roxas grimaces.

Flames.

"Uh, hello?" Comes a groggy voice from the phone.

"Axel?" Roxas answers, albeit more urgently than even he expected. His voice is somewhat hoarse since he hasn't spoken a word all day, and after clearing his throat, he continues. "It's Roxas."

"Roxas!" Suddenly, Axel's voice is full of energy. "It's nighttime but you finally called! How have you been?"

Glancing at the analog clocks hanging throughout the station, each noting the time of various places all over the world, Roxas sees that it's only been a couple hours since he last looked at the time.

"I didn't call too late at night did I? Were you asleep?"

"Just taking a catnap between shifts, buddy. Don't worry about it, I have way later nights than this. In fact, just the other day-"

"Axel," Roxas cuts in, feeling impatient. "Sorry to interrupt but I don't have a lot of minutes on this phone. Something happened... so I'm on my way to Dusk City."

There is a brief pause. "Which train?" Axel asks, voice far more serious now.

"The 7 am one. It's the soonest I can get."

"I'll be at the station waiting for you. See you then."

"Okay. Thanks-" but the other man hangs up before the word goes through, and Roxas sighs.

The next several hours Roxas spent in a trance. He listened to the light noises of the destination prompters, and practically memorized every detail of all the advertisements playing on the screens around him. Very few trains came, and very few people passed by, and not a single gaze paid him mind. Roxas would have let himself fall asleep if it weren't for terrible memories jolting him awake from his dreams. Roxas at one point even wished he would have visited the tower sitting atop the train station one last time, but he knew it would simply put too much strain on his heart.

After one big blur of time and exhaustion, the destination prompter chimed and the electronic voice finally spoke the words he'd been waiting to hear: "Dusk City train now arriving for 7 o'oclock departure."

Stiffly, Roxas rises and watches the train pull up to the platform. Surprisingly, it doesn't look ominous or spooky, and he doesn't even hear the funeral march play in his head. It looks like any other train... at least from the outside. The only notable difference is the train only has two passenger cars, whereas almost all of the trains that pull into the station have at least six.

The passenger cars' doors slide open and Roxas opts to enter the one closest to himself. As he steps on board, he finds himself in awe. The interior is far different from any train he had ever ridden before: red velvet stretched across ornate wooden benches sitting in rows, golden curtains draped over the windows, gothic sconces at every row, and even red carpeting lining the floors. This is certainly far from the drab, beat-up trains he's ridden over his life. Crossing quickly over to the end of the car, he looks through the glass in the door to see the other car is the same, but with flipped seats and matching tables between; plus what looks to be a bar sitting at the far side. A dining car.

Glancing around, Roxas looks for an acceptable seat on the completely-empty train. Picking a spot up front, he huddles up close to the window. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the note he received with his cloak from his pocket and glances over it a few more times. After a few moments, the electronic voice announces the train is departing, and he feels his heart grow heavy. Solemnly, he watches the station with memories swimming in his head: he remembers running up those steps by the ticket booth to climb the clock tower, eating sea salt ice cream at sunset with his friends, the gross knot he would always get in his stomach if he looked down from that height, and the joy of being so far above all the chaos below. He shut his eyes. His favorite moment up there would have to be after the struggle tournament, when he pulled off the orbs of the trophy he won. Hayner, Pence, Olette, and Roxas, all holding up their little spheres, which glinted in the light of the setting sun.

Freedom.

It is then that Roxas is finally able to fall asleep. He doesn't stir when the train pulls out of the station, and doesn't have a chance to watch the building disappear from sight. All he needs in the wake of a new life are the happy memories in his head. The first step toward his future is in his hand; the note that simply reads

_Welcome to the Organization._

* * *

7 pm, and Olette stiffly enters the emptiness of the Usual Spot, eyes hopeful. "Roxas?" She calls out, but she receives no answer. Hayner and Pence step out from behind the fading red curtain at the entrance to stand by her side. One good look at Olette gives both boys all the answers they need.

"He's not here either..." Hayner sighs. "We've checked everywhere, where could he possibly be?!" Casting a frustrated green gaze at Pence, Hayner asks "Are you _sure_ that's the very last place you saw him?"

"I swear, he was heading home through the Sandlot. I've told you this like six times already!" Pence doesn't mean to raise his voice, but the hunt for Roxas is taking a toll on all three of the tired, upset teens. No one was answering the door at Roxas' home, nobody in town had seen him, Sunset Terrace had no leads, they'd checked the almost-as-usual spot twice... and yet there was no sign of him anywhere. This was their first check of the Usual Spot, but still nothing to be gained.

"Let's just calm down, okay?" Olette chimes in, folding her arms and staring intently at her friends. Even her exhaustion is showing, despite her demeanor. "We can't turn against each other now, there are plenty of places we haven't looked. We could check the forest, for starters."

"There's also the underground concourse." Pence adds, "Where else haven't we checked?"

Hayner takes a shot in the dark. "What about the beach?"

Pence shakes his head, "He couldn't afford a train ticket."

"We can't rule out the possibility!" The green-eyed boy tosses his arms up in exasperation, "We should look there anyway!"

"Don't you think if he were at the beach there would have been more people who spotted him?" Pence shot back, "Some of the people we talked to had just been there and they didn't see him."

"Pence, unless I see or don't see him with my own two eyes, I don't care! We should go!"

From of the corner of her eye, Olette spots something out of the ordinary. "You guys?" She attempts to pipe in, turning to watch the boys slowly closing in on one another.

"It'll be a waste of time and munny, Hayner! We're better of starting small!"

"What does time or munny matter in a situation like this?! We have to find Roxas!"

"Guys..." Olette tries again, to no avail. She approaches a paper pinned to the dartboard while the other two are yelling in each other's faces.

"What, do you think I don't want to?! We have to manage ourselves better than that, Hayner, and you know it!"

"I don't care how we do it, we have to make sure Roxas is okay by any means-"

Suddenly, the paper is between them, and both boys rear back in confusion.

"Are you two done?" She asks gravely, "I want to read this letter. It's from Roxas." Hayner and Pence both fall silent, signifying their full attention, and Olette begins to read aloud.

"To the greatest friends I could ever ask for, AKA Hayner, Pence, and Olette...

I'm thinking of you, wherever you are. I pray for your sorrow to end, and your hearts to blend, but now I must step foreword to realize my own wish. For many years, a whole lifetime it seems, we've grown together through hardships and fun times. My life was made complete by this friendship and our unbreakable bonds. When my mother was gone, you three were there; when my brother was gone, you three were there; when my father was "gone", you three were still there, no matter what. My gratefulness is eternal, and I wish I could give back to you what you gave to me. However, it is time for me to go now. Twilight Town, this life of mine... I cannot bear it any longer. I cannot live in this state of constant fear and sadness; my heart is heavy with shame, regret, and betrayal. I have to vanish from this place, though my goodbye is sudden. Who knows? Starting a new journey without me by your side may not be so hard... by the time you read this, it has already begun. There are many worlds out there, but they all share the same sky. With one sky comes one destiny, and that destiny connects us all.

Farewell,  
Roxas."

* * *

_Exeunt_

* * *

A note from MHC: Sorry for the wait, I didn't realize my second semester of college would be so busy! Hopefully it was worth it! Yes, the letter is very cliche, BUT I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A NICE THROWBACK SHADDUP.

I do apologize that this chapter has some very graphic content (hence the trigger warning), but it is one of the biggest driving points to Roxas' personal story. This was probably the hardest chapter of them all to write because of that scene... I was debating whether or not to take it out, but it really is essential to the plot. For those of you who have been sexually assaulted or raped, I do apologize for any offence and I wish you the best. Hopefully you skipped to the end of the trigger warning, but please note _**I do not take any responsibility if you ignored the trigger warning-what you choose to read is your choice alone.**_

Sexual assault and rape can happen to anyone of any race, gender, and age; no one deserves to go through such trauma, and no one deserves to be shamed for it for any reason.

On a less societal note, in the next chapter we finally get to meet our second protagonist, and then see his story unfold. Excited!? I know I am!

**In the meantime, I have a question for you guys: who do you think Roxas' parents are? **Their identities have yet to be revealed (that comes way later), but for now I'm curious to hear your impressions.

Final note to any confused readers: This IS a Soroku fanfiction! We're getting to that soon, you guys. I promise! _Please don't forget to __**leave a review**__ or follow the story!_

With so much love I could pop through you computer screen and hug you,  
-Hannah


	4. III: Sanguine

**The Night**_**  
**_Chapter III:_Sanguine_

* * *

**_January 21__st__, 2017_**

_It had been one month since Roxas' mother left with his older brother in tow._

_Or rather, his older half-brother._

_The last he saw of her was when she dropped him off for school. It was almost as if abandoning him hadn't even crossed her mind. The last glimmer of her gentle but exhausted smile bore no ill intent as she waved goodbye; she even wished him good luck on his quiz for that day. Her concealer hid the bruises Roxas knew were there, and she was like a porcelain doll with hair-like fractures across her delicate surface. In fact, everyone knew what was there but nobody ever said anything—it was just another mask on another person._

_Back then, Roxas was always worried for his mother… but after that day, he was only ever worried for himself._

_Roxas would have been on that train with his mom had it not been for his father's adamant refusal of signing custody over. It took a few years of violence for his mother to finally flee on a whim… leaving Roxas behind. His father was more than happy to hand over a son that wasn't even his to begin with, but the last spiteful stab toward his unfaithful wife was to never let go of Roxas. His father never even struck either boy simply so there could not be a case of child abuse weighing against him. In fact, since his mother fled to Dusk City of all places, nearly all of Twilight Town was on his father's side; he may have been a monster, but at least he wasn't a literal monster._

_One day, as per usual, Roxas had come home from middle school while his father was still at work (the prime example of a functioning alcoholic). On his way to ascend the stairs to his room, the phone rang, and something told him to it pick up. He didn't recognize the number, but he did recognize the voice._

_"Mom?!"_

"_Roxas! Oh, my sweetheart… I'm so glad you picked up. Is your dad at work?"_

"_Yeah I just got home but he isn't here yet."_

"_Oh thank the Goddess I got you in time! Your father has been blocking every number I call from so I've been trying to get you right when you come home. Oh sunshine, it's so good to hear your voice!"_

_Despite himself, Roxas suddenly began to weep uncontrollably; pent-up emotions from his mother's disappearance overflowed out into his words, "Mom, please, you have to come home," He desperately sobbed into the phone, "Please mom you have to—"_

"_What's wrong, Roxas?"_

"_H-he-he keeps saying," His throat felt tighter than a noose, but he continued on. "Dad, he says these things and I-I-I don't want to believe him, mom, I just—"_

"_Deep breath, Roxas."_

"_But mom...!"_

"_Breathe in..." Unconsciously, Roxas followed her instructions, taking a long and deep breath. "Now out." He let the air go like a gentle breeze; that, along with his mother's soothing voice, was enough to ease him somewhat. "Tell me what happened."_

_Shakily, Roxas muttered, "Dad… dad said that you were never coming back. He said you had a new family and I'd never see you again and… I just…"_

"_Roxas,"_

_He sniffled, "Yeah?"_

"_He's lying. I'm trying so hard, my starlight, and it's going to take some time." Her voice wavered as if she was becoming upset herself. "I'm doing the best I can, and the best you can for me is just hold out a little while longer, okay?"_

"_Y-yeah…"_

"_Remember the necklace I gave you? The old family heirloom?" A crack of the voice and Roxas could tell she was crying very softly. "Always keep it close to your heart, because that's where I'll be. If you're ever scared or on your own, hold it close and think of me. Okay, Roxas?"_

_Her deceptively assuring words felt so good to hear, and he replied without hesitation. "I promise."_

"_I love you, and no matter what, I want you to always remember that."_

_A few months later, another call came in during the middle of the night. His mother was gone. He was never told the cause and there was no funeral; there was only silent mourning and stiff apologies._

_So sorry about your mom, Roxas._

My mother abandoned me.

_I heard about you mother, Roxas._

Who fucking didn't?

_I'm sorry for your loss, Roxas._

Fuck you_._

_Your mother was a wonderful woman, Roxas._

She left me here to rot in this town for the rest of my life.

_Then suddenly, it hit him. It started as a distant echo in the back of his head, then slowly as each day went on, it got louder and louder. It was the flicker of an inkling that exploded into a full-on epiphany:_

I don't have to stay here for the rest of my life. If my mom was able to escape to Dusk City then so can I.

_Thus, like a bird takes flight toward the blue sky, Roxas' ideas soared. It was 7__th__ grade, and he had conducted the central part of his great escape plan: leave for Dusk City after senior year of high school._

* * *

**June 11, 2025**

It had been almost a year since that train ride.

When Roxas had gotten off the train at Dusk City's station, he was immediately greeted by the sight of Axel's flaming red hair, acidic green eyes, and fox-like smile. It was such a welcome sight after all the events that had just unfolded that, despite himself, Roxas fell into the man's arms and told him _everything_. He felt bad for unloading on Axel once more, but at the same time, Axel was the only one he could trust and talk to in this new place.

There was even a point where Axel had offered to give Seifer a visit on his next Twilight Town venture, but Roxas had quickly declined. He wanted to vanish into thin air from that place; any trace of him that could somehow give his loved ones an idea of where to search was detrimental to his new life.

However, at that point, Roxas realized he hadn't made a plan as to where his new life would begin. He tied up his loose ends and got on the train… but he only had 16,050 Munny left over from the train ticket. It was about enough for maybe a month and a half's worth of rent, but there was still no place to go right away.

Or so he thought.

It turned out Axel had scraped together some plans for Roxas a few hours before his arrival. Apparently the red-head's apartment had an extra room used for storage and was ready for an occupant. He demanded Roxas stay with him and his two roommates, who were also part of the Organization; there was even the assurance that he wouldn't have to pay rent or buy food for the first year as he got settled into the job. Since Axel was to be Roxas' "mentor" anyway, it was more convenient to just live together.

Of course, Roxas couldn't pass that up. He could put up with just about anything for a roof over his head and food in his belly. In fact, Roxas was so elated he found himself enthusiastically greeting his new roommates later that day. There was Demyx, Axel's ocean-eyed boyfriend who had a charming smile and dirty blond hair styled into what resembled a mullet. There was also Naminé, a petite girl with steely eyes hiding behind wisps of vanilla bangs that framed her heart-shaped face.

Roxas was able to pick up on their demeanors and personalities pretty fast; upon meeting them, Naminé simply shook his hand with a polite smile before he was ruthlessly pulled into a crushing hug by Demyx. These three seemed to totally contradict one another: Axel was fiery, Demyx was bubbly, and Naminé was serene. Somehow, this ragtag team was harmonious in a way, and a small twinge of sadness pulled at Roxas' heart as it reminded him of his old friends.

For a second, part of him wondered what Hayner, Pence, and Olette were up to at that moment—but then he quickly buried the thoughts and emotions connected to his past under a thick layer of suppression. His old life was gone and he would rather be dead to everyone in that town than continue to heavily hang on their minds like a painful tumor. After all, there were more important matters at hand, such as Axel's mentoring.

When Roxas' mentoring began, he felt pretty nervous. After all, he still wasn't sure what this job exactly entailed or even who "the Organization" was. At that point his only impression of the group had been black cloaks, amazing pay, and some underlying stuff nobody was allowed to disclose to him. Roxas was almost expecting there to be a terrifying gang initiation waiting for him at the start of his career.

Of course, it was quite the opposite. Axel explained that new recruits always start as couriers for the first year. This is so they get to know the inner-workings of Dusk City, learn the dangers, navigate on the trams, mingle with the citizens, and slowly meet the other Organization members. That way, new recruits will be ready to go straight into the field after they're done "training as a spark" (Axel would not elaborate on what that meant, only saying that it was the process that came after the first year).

A new recruit always has a mentor who helps season and protect them. Axel also mentored Demyx and, for whatever reason, Naminé mentored Axel even though she's around Roxas' age. After about eight months of seasoning and exploring the city, Axel eventually let Roxas do some courier missions on his own. In fact, that's what he was doing right now; he is on his way to meet Number VI for the first time and deliver a package that is currently sitting in his backpack.

The tram Roxas is riding on is empty, which makes sense for this time of day. Roxas has come to find that the trams are busiest during commuting hours: right at the crack of dawn and around sunset. Right now, the sun is low in the sky, low enough to be obscured by the tall buildings and thick fog hanging above the cityscape… but there's still some time until sunset. The streetcars are electronically rigged to move along tracks hugging the sidewalks and make periodic stops, almost like unmanned buses. They're the quickest and most effective way to travel since traffic on the roads is always dense during daylight.

Quietly, the tram rattles along and Roxas picks at a fraying edge on his hoodie as he gazes out the window. Since he's just a recruit, he isn't required to wear his uniform in the field so as to avoid unwarranted attention. This was slightly disappointing since Roxas has come to adore his cloak, but it's a small loss since he'd much rather avoid creatures of the night whenever possible.

Of course, it's difficult to tell who's what in this coastal city. Like Twilight Town is a masquerade of liars, Dusk City is a masquerade of monsters, and it's still better to blend in than stand out. Instead of on a rotting canvas, the picture of this city was painted in the dark, so you never know what's going to pop out of the brushstrokes. With the thick clouds overhead, advection fog rolling in from the sea, and impossibly tall buildings consistently obscuring the sun, just about anything could be out there. While the creatures are mostly well-mannered and typically keep to themselves, it is still in everybody's best interest to stay on guard. A person passing him on the street could be a simple human or the most horrendous of creatures hiding beneath human-looking flesh.

_All ye who enter here abandon all hope..._

Roxas is disconnected from this thought when he feels the tram slow down to make another stop. He doesn't expect anyone to get on so he doesn't look toward the open door at first, but surprisingly enough, he hears somebody step onto the streetcar just before the doors close. He glances in the direction of the new traveler; a man who looks to be in his early-to-mid-twenties, panting as if he'd just been running to catch the train. Roxas tries not to pay much mind to him and goes back to staring out the window.

_He seems like the type to sit in the back._

Not quite.

Before he has time to notice, the footsteps suddenly approach him and Roxas feels a presence looming overhead, like shade from a tree.

"This seat taken?" The man asks with a gentle smile. Unsure of how to answer, Roxas just shrugs, and the man plops down next to him with a pleased sigh before placing a beat up-looking knapsack between his legs. Roxas scoots closer to the window, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the other man's close proximity. "It's pretty busy today, huh?" The man says sarcastically, still somewhat short of breath, "This car is _packed_."

Unused to such foreword interaction, Roxas hesitantly replies with an awkward smile "I know, I can barely breathe in here."

The other man laughs. Strangely enough, even in a city where literal monsters live among humans it's still polite to make small talk.

_But __**this**__ guy… _Roxas thinks before taking a moment to look the man over. His oddly-styled hair is a deep caramel color, and his skin is tanned, almost as if he had previously lived on an island.

The guy notices Roxas' curious gaze and flashes another smile."That's an awesome necklace, by the way." He gestures toward the X hanging around Roxas' neck.

"Oh," Roxas touches it. He'd been wearing the necklace since his first courier assignment in Dusk City; it brings him a sort of peace and feeling of protection whenever he has it on, for whatever reason. "Thank you. Yours is cool too." He points to the crown necklace the man is wearing. "Is that silver?"

"Platinum, actually. It's a family heirloom."

Feeling slightly more relaxed, Roxas replies "Mine too, actually. It was made back in the late 1800s."

"Hey! Same here! Check it out," he flips over the crown to show the numbers embedded in the metal. "1887."

"That's such a crazy coincidence!" Roxas smiles, "You know what they say: it's a small world after all."

The man laughs and leans in close—God, Roxas hates when people do that—and the blond feels nervous again. "I have to ask," The brunet says eagerly, "What's your name?"

To Roxas' relief, the tram stops once more and this time it's his destination.

Avoiding eye contact, Roxas mutters. "Um… this is my stop."

"Oh!" The guy chuckles, sliding out of his seat, taking his knapsack with him. "It really is a small world. It's my stop too." For some strange reason, Roxas feels like that's a lie. After years of deciphering the truth from of the deepest of dishonestly, he just _knows_.

Incredibly wary, Roxas feigns politeness and gestures toward the door with a fake smile. "After you."

He isn't sure if the guy called his bluff… but the man happily gestures to the open streetcar door as well. "No, I insist. After _you_."

At this point Roxas just wants to leave the man's presence, so he slings his backpack over his shoulders then hurries off the tram and onto the sidewalk.

_Of course there's nobody around._ He thinks in defeat, glancing hopefully over the area. Still, Number VI's location should only be a block or so away, so he doesn't have to worry too much.

He hears the guy step off the tram, and Roxas turns to face him. "Well, it was really nice chatting with—"

"Stop."

Suddenly, Roxas is paralyzed. His vision becomes rose-tinted, and it feels as if he's suddenly become incredibly high. His skin is fluffy bunnies, his body is a happy cloud, and his brain is swimming in the ocean with singing fish. The world feels lovey-dovey-wovey and he just wants to bask in the cotton candy happy-joy fluff-and-stuff around him.

_No. _His thoughts break through the candy-coated surface of his stupor._ What the fuck is happening to me? This isn't right, I've got to—_

"Now," The man speaks, and it's like a drug. Roxas wants to hear that voice more, and he clings on to every word. "Tell me your name."

The words spill out of Roxas' mouth like melted chocolate out of a molten lava cake, "Roxas." He feels a drugged smile tug at his lips. "I'm Roxas."

_Why can't I stop myself? What the fuck is this?_

The man smiles, and Roxas wants to lick that guy's lips because they look so yummy all of a sudden. "Well Roxas, it's very nice to meet you." The brunet holds out his open palm for a handshake, and Roxas mirrors the action in tandem.

Inside Roxas' head is a firestorm. _Why can't I control myself?! Fuck, I've gotta get out of here…!_ _Stop! __**STOP**__!_

Suddenly, Roxas slaps the hand away, gasping. He stares into the man's eyes, which are wide in confusion, and his breath hitches in his throat. He didn't pay much mind before, but he sees the deep blue depths and is almost lost in them.

"How…" The man mutters, totally flabbergasted for some reason, "How did you do that?"

Suddenly, Roxas turns and runs. Though he isn't fully recovered, he books it down the sidewalk toward Number VI's location.

"Hey, wait! WAIT!" He hears the man calling out far behind him, "I didn't get to tell you! My name is_ Sora!_"

* * *

Zexion is leafing through musty papers in a filing cabinet behind a wooden counter when suddenly the door to his shop swings open; the attached bell chiming nosily in response. Startled, he flips around to see a young blond man quickly shutting his door while gasping for air.

"…can I _help_ you?"

The boy looks at him with wild eyes before shifting slightly and standing upright. "S-sorry about that… uh…" He gestures to the door, "You're Number VI, right? You own this bookstore?"

Zexion eyes the boy suspiciously. "Yes… and I presume you're Roxas, the new recruit?" The blond nods. "I thought I smelled something different…" He stiffly holds out a hand, "My book, please."

Roxas looks at him in confusion—part of him wondering what exactly what the other man meant by "smell"—before realizing that Zexion was referring to the package. Clumsily fumbling for his backpack, Roxas mutters an apology as he's finally able to wrangle the rectangular object out from its hiding place. He steps close to the counter and hands over the parcel, leaving the backpack propped up on the floor.

"Here you go Number…. Uh… what's your name, by the way?"

"I'm Zexion," Said man replies nonchalantly, "and thank you for your service. Goodbye."

"Wait," Roxas pipes in, unappreciative of the total apathy coming his way. "That's all? The other members I've met have at least held a partial conversation with me."

Zexion pauses in the midst of tearing open the package and shoots Roxas a displeased look. Roxas momentarily glances over Number VI's appearance: piercing cyan eyes with the right side of his face obscured by long periwinkle bangs.

"Oh?" Zexion sarcastically drawls, "And who, pray tell, have you met so far?"

Agitated but compliant, Roxas begins to count on his fingers. "Axel, Demyx, Naminé, Luxord, Larxene, and…" He glances to the ceiling, the last name on the tip of his tongue, "…Saïx, I think?"

"Well, three out of those six never stop talking anyway, and two are absolutely terrifying to talk to. Naminé is fine though, as timid as she is." Just then, Zexion smiles as he pulls the book from the tatters that once enveloped it. "There you are. See newbie, this is a beauty here." He shows Roxas the thick and ornate tome. "_A Necromancer's Manual of the Fifteenth Century. _It was all translated from Latin and it really helped us clean up the big ghoul problem from a couple years ago." He gently pats it, "This may not be going on my shelves, but I'm certainly going to keep it safe should such an incident occur again."

Vaguely remembering an old conversation he had with a certain redhead, Roxas spitefully thinks, _Axel, you fucking liar…_

"Well kid, there's your conversation." Zexion waves Roxas off while examining the textbook's spine, "The tram should be clear now that the evening rush is almost over."

Fed up with Zexion's negative attitude, Roxas is about to happily turn and leave when the other man suddenly slams the book on the counter and snaps his head toward the door.

"MARLU—"

Zexion is cut off when the door to the bookstore flies open, the bell clanging noisily. The room floods with the scent of flowers, and in steps a tall man with pink hair.

"ZEXION!" The man's booming voice bounces off the walls of the small shop like thunder in a valley.

He stands menacingly in the doorway and glares at the far-shorter Zexion, who has taken a hostile stance in response. Roxas looks back and forth between the two; somewhat terrified but mostly confused at the situation. The three of them stand there in silence, and Roxas can almost imagine hearing the cheesy showdown music from a western flick he can't remember the name of. Just then, the pink-haired man relaxes his stature and playfully pouts at Zexion.

"You didn't tell me the new recruit was going to be here today." He turns to Roxas before extending a hand with a chipper smile and, still mostly confused, Roxas shakes the guy's hand. "I'm Marluxia, Number XI. I own the flower shop just across the street."

He releases Roxas' grasp to point out the large bow window behind Zexion and Roxas follows the direction of his finger to see a floral boutique on the other side of the road lit up by streetlamps. Tiers upon tiers of brightly-colored flowers sit under an awning with "The Graceful Florist" painted delicately across its surface.

Sighing angrily, Zexion pinches the bridge of his nose. "Marluxia you aren't even supposed to meet him until he delivers something to you."

"I know, I know," Marluxia waves at him in defiance, "You know how I get, I'm just too impatient for that. Besides, now we can forgo the formalities next time. Isn't that right…" He cocks his eyebrow at the blond, clearly searching his memory for a name, "…Roxas, is it?"

"Uh, yes." Roxas responds, "It's nice to meet you, Marluxia, but…" He shifts his gaze to Zexion, who looks like he could tear the tall man's throat out at any minute. "How did you know he was coming? There's no way you could have seen or heard him."

"Well," Number XI starts, "He smelled me of course."

Zexion growls before abruptly circling around the counter, carefully avoiding Roxas' backpack. "Marluxia—"

"Oh hush," Marluxia interjects, "He'll find out eventually, Zexion. May as well tell him now. You see Roxas, Zexion has this ability that gives him a hypersensitivity in his sense of smell."

"Marluxia!" Zexion swiftly approaches the tall man, but once he's within arms-reach Marluxia grabs Number VI around the shoulders and pinches the smaller man's nose as if he were teasing a small child.

"It's an ability best described as _supra-naturalis olfaction_; then again, that's just me mashing together the Latin word for 'supernatural' with the Latin word for the sense of smell. Basically, he can smell the scent of anything supernatural or otherwise. He can smell me coming especially because of my floral aroma, but that's why I ran over here so quick!"

"More like a floral stench—!" Marluxia covers the wriggling Zexion's mouth without skipping a beat.

"Once you start your training as a spark—" Roxas hears a muffled scream from Zexion at this, "Don't worry Zexy, this is the last thing I'll tell him. Once you start your training as a spark you'll start to understand your own abilities and what you're capable of. Trust me, it's going to be awesome."

Intrigued, Roxas can't help but wonder aloud, "Do you have any special abilities, Marluxia?"

Zexion glares at the man holding him, and Marluxia smiles. "Every single one of us does, Roxas, but we can discuss that once you deliver _my_ package." He winks at Zexion, who grimaces in response. "Gotta leave some suspense, after all!"

After some more squirming, Zexion is finally released, and he angrily jumps away as if he were a spooked cat and Marluxia was a rocking chair.

"Wonderful, Number XI! If either of us get roasted at the stake it will be _your_ fault!"

"Will you relax? I didn't tell him anything that violates the rules!"

As the two bicker like a married couple, Roxas seizes the opportunity to go over this newly acquired information. His original surmise of Axel's job—of the Organization—was correct: they were, without a doubt, spellcasters. Zexion's explanation of the necromancy book lined up with Axel's ghost-clearing story, and Marluxia's talk of supernatural abilities drove the rest of Roxas' hypothesis home; besides, it wouldn't make sense to recruit a mere human so willingly if they were anything else. To Roxas' knowledge, each caster has gone through the same process he's going through and therefore each caster was formerly (or is currently) human. The plausible conclusion is this: once his initiation is done, he too will join the ranks of his peers and obtain what he can only assume are magical abilities.

_But what are "magical abilities" anyway?_

Roxas leans against the counter, looking down at his hands in wonder. With only Zexion's example to draw from for now, Roxas is not sure how "magical" things will get. Smelling things seems very underwhelming, so there _must_ be more to it. Or is there? Does becoming a caster grant you phenomenal cosmic powers or itty bitty power traits? Maybe both, maybe neither. Once he visits Marluxia he'll have more answers…

"I swear Marluxia, the second I see Roxas coming down the street I'll be over there at your shop to make sure you don't continue your insensitive gabbing!"

…Or not.

_Regardless, I guess I'll find out soon enough. Only one more month to go._

Roxas returns his focus to the conversation (if you can call it that) between VI and XI, which surprisingly is still going strong. Marluxia just blankly stares at Zexion, who is making wild hand gestures in Roxas' direction.

"…I mean look at him, Marlu, you probably scared the shit out of him! Look how confused he is! This is why we are not supposed to talk about that stuff before the training starts!"

"Wait, did you just call me 'Marlu'? What's next, 'Marly'? Are we 'Marly and Zexy' now?"

"Don't try and change the subject!"

Finally, Roxas decides to intervene because at this rate they'll be arguing all night.

"You guys!" He shouts with no intention of masking his disdain. The two men freeze in mid-conversation and shift their gaze toward him. "It's okay! This can just stay between the three of us. I'll be starting training next month anyway." They both blink, and Roxas can't help but compare them to fish staring at him from the confines of a bowl. "Besides, you didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know," He lies, "It's not that hard to get information out of Demyx and Axel. Right, Zexion?"

"Aha! See, Zexy?" Marluxia smugly crosses his arms and looks down his nose at the shorter man. "There's nothing to worry about."

Sighing, Zexion looks at Roxas very carefully, his nose wrinkled. He props his elbow up with one hand, and taps his chin with the other. His expression shows there is some kind of calculating going on in his head, as if he's making an important consideration. Roxas almost wants to vanish under Number XI's gaze, unsure of what the man is scheming.

A somewhat satisfied smile curls at Zexion's lips, "Very well then," He says slyly, "I guess what's done is done. However, now Marluxia and I are almost as responsible for you as Axel is." At this, Marluxia whines, "That being said, I must recommend you come to us for any further information. You can use my bookstore for research whenever you please, and I'm sure Marluxia is willing to extend his own knowledge your way."

Knowing he can't reject this, Marluxia groans and shrugs in defeat. "If you insist."

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Besides," Zexion's eyes flash impishly toward Roxas, "_I can smell a liar._"

Roxas feels himself inadvertently gulp. Zexion knows his little white lie, and Roxas understands the look directed at him is more-so a warning than a threat. Right now there isn't any doubt behind trusting VI or XI; the two of them don't want to face any more trouble than he does, after all. Plus, the more resources he has, and the more peers on his side, the better.

To express his cooperation, he lets himself smile. "Something tells me this is the start of a beautiful friendship." He looks straight into the eyes of Zexion, who smirks in response.

"Wonderful." Suddenly, VI's face falls into a scowl. "Now, both of you get the hell out of my bookstore. I need to bury myself in a nice novella to rid myself of this foul mood."

Marluxia doesn't even hesitate to get out the door, leaving with a quick "See you soon, Roxas!" and a jingle of the bell.

Reaching down, Roxas picks up his backpack when he hears Zexion speak. "Goddess be with you, Roxas." Unsure of how to respond, Roxas just slings his backpack onto his shoulders and politely waves as he leaves out the door.

* * *

Roxas continues down the street which is now dark, save for the illuminating glow of the streetlamps and some flickering neon lights over the shops in the area. It's been some time since the sun completely set, and he's almost thankful that he evaded the evening rush. When the soft rattle of thunder echoes through the sky, he looks up.

"Rain again…." Roxas scowls. Fortunately, after being caught in the rain a few times too many, he learned to pack an umbrella with him and resolves to pull out when it actually starts to shower. A streak of lightning in the distance sinisterly lights up the sky, followed by more thunder. "This place needs to lighten up."

On his way back to the tram Roxas ponders over his experience with VI and XI. Zexion was certainly apathetic, but also easily irked; on the other hand, Marluxia was smug and somewhat rebellious. Once more, the two seemed to be another example of opposing forces that somehow gravitated toward one another with the sheer strength of planets… although their bickering could show someone the opposite.

Some time passes and the rainclouds still hang threateningly in the sky, although no droplets have fallen to the ground. Standing at the tram stop he'd gotten off of a couple hours ago, Roxas continues to think about the day's events. Despite all the squabbling, Roxas felt a certain fondness for Marluxia and Zexion reminiscent of his friends back home. The consistent parallels Roxas keeps drawing between Twilight Town and Dusk City are both incredibly welcome and deeply painful. Being reminded of his old home was hard to think about, but it helps that the people he keeps meeting bring a sense of security he used to only know through his friendship with Hayner, Pence, and Olette. He's at least thankful his encounters have been mostly positive—

There's a tight grip around his bicep and Roxas feels himself being forcibly turned around; the first thing he sees is deep blue depths. He'd nearly forgotten about them in the day's chaos.

"Boo."

"_You_…" Roxas hisses and, without thinking, swings a fist at the blue-eyed man.

"Woah there!" The man jumps back just in time, "Just calm down!"

"Calm down?! Fuck you!" Roxas aims straight for the man's face, but misses once more.

"I'm just here to talk! I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" The man's face scrunches up in confusion so Roxas continues. "You made me see fluffy clouds and happy bunnies or some shit!"

"Fluffy what?" The man is totally lost, "Roxas, what are you talking about?"

The blond hears the man use his name and it reminds him of the incident from earlier that day. Now furious, he tries desperately to strike him a few more times, but the guy dodges every single hit with supernatural ease.

"I can do this all night, you know." The brunet sighs and in one fluid motion catches Roxas' fists as they propel toward him. "Listen, I just want to know how you resisted my glamor. That's all!"

This time it is Roxas' turn to be confused. Initially, he perceives the statement as something smug, but he still isn't quite sure what blue-eyes here is referring to. "Your… what?"

The man frowns, more puzzled now than ever before. "It's the thing I used to make you tell me your name. Do you not know what glamoring is?"

Roxas feels sheepish for a moment, muttering a "No, I don't actually…" before something clicks together in his head. "That's what I was telling you about with the clouds and bunnies! When you did that it was like you slipped me ecstasy because everything turned pink and…"

"Wait, wait, wait…" The brunet releases Roxas' hands, "You're telling me that not only could you resist the glamor, but you could also _see_ and _feel_ it?"

"I…" Roxas stumbles, finding no other details to add since the guy basically hit the nail on the head, "I'm not sure what else to tell you, blue-eyes."

"Blue-eyes?" He scoffs, "I told you my name, remember? I'm Sora. And you can at least tell me how you did it."

Roxas opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out. How did he do it, exactly? Thinking back, he remembers the alien sensations overwhelming his system felt almost like drowning in a sea of electric cotton candy (for lack of better comparison). As blissful as it was in the beginning, Roxas knew it was far from normal. He remembers screaming in his head to make it stop, but he isn't sure how exactly he broke free. He looks to Sora who is patiently waiting for a response.

_What __**are**__ you, anyway?_

"Well," Roxas starts, still unsure of how to respond, "I guess the best way to put it is that I used my willpower. Nothing seemed right, and I knew I had to stop it somehow." He rubs the back of his neck. "At least, I'm pretty sure that's what I did. I really just don't know." Roxas sends Sora a bemused look, "Why does it matter to you anyway?"

For a second, Sora's face takes on a frustrated look, but he quickly composes himself. "I almost forgot you don't know what glamor is… and you live in _Dusk City _of all places." He laughs, and Roxas frowns.

"Are you going to tell me what it is then?" The blond bites out, crossing his arms in agitation.

Sora lightly taps his cheek for a moment, eyes cast skyward. "Well, it's a bit tricky to explain. It's not quite mind control, but more of an influence, I guess. You can't have people do your bidding, but you can encourage their will or actions one way or another. Typically you can feel the sensation of being glamored, but definitely not as extreme as your case. It's kinda like the feeling of trust or solace in a human's heart—you can suddenly confide in the one glamoring you, and everything they say makes sense." He makes a gesture to Roxas, "Like getting someone's name. I can do that, maybe even make them do something else, but that's about it. Some say the most powerful of vampires can completely bend the will of anything, not just humans." An honest smile curls at his lips. "You're interesting to me because, through all my years of complete success in glamoring people, not a single one has had the ability to resist like you."

As Roxas takes in the new information, a sudden reality settles on his shoulders like the weight of the earth; his eyes go wide, and he feels his jaw go slack.

One word rings through his head out of all the rest:

_Vampire?_

Both men are quiet, the only audible sound is the gentle buzzing of the streetlamp overhead and the distant rumble of thunder over the ocean.

As if he fully understands what Roxas has just realized, Sora chuckles. "You really are new here…" Wickedly, he asks, "You wanna see 'em?"

Without waiting for a response, Sora grins widely, and Roxas can almost swear the man's teeth are purposefully glinting at him. Within the Cheshire smile are Sora's canines, elongated and sharp as a knife. Then, Sora briefly holds his hand over his mouth before removing it. His fangs are gone, and the man runs his tongue over his now-normal teeth in amusement.

"Neat trick, huh?"

At this point Roxas is a mess of nerves and he cannot distinguish between his feelings of total terror and massive intrigue. Sure, he's probably come across vampires multiple times during his year in Dusk City, but never has he actually encountered one face-to-face. Especially not like this. He's never even seen the actual fangs of a vampire before. Roxas is so used to being an isolated entity that even the strange figures of Dusk City don't pay all that much mind to him. This is his first "real" interaction with a creature of the night, and he's conflicted between running away as fast as he can and staying to learn more about this blue-eyed vampire.

"You're pretty odd," Sora says with a genuinely friendly smile, "I haven't done something like that in forever, I'm just so used to people keeping to themselves in this city. Are you okay, Roxas?"

"Uh…" At a loss for words, Roxas just kind of shrugs. He figures it's a good neutral response to the question, since he doesn't quite want to express fear or curiosity.

"I have an idea!" Sora chirps, "Let's see how well you can break out of my glamor!"

"W-what?" Bemused, Roxas scowls, "I'm not an experiment! If anything you should be telling me more about all this vampire stuff since you've been giving me so much grief!"

"Hmmm," Sora cocks a brow, as if in thought. "How 'bout this, if you break out of it at least once I'll tell you anything you want. Deal?" He holds out his hand out to shake.

Roxas hesitates. Is he really sure he can pull off getting out of the glamor again? What if Sora tries something sketchy? Can this vampire really be trusted? Any of the information Roxas could learn from Sora can also likely be obtained via the Organization. Still… something deep inside of Roxas wants to explore what he's capable of; plus, if it means wiping the smug smile off this guy's face, that's an added plus.

With a challenging smirk, Roxas reaches out and firmly shakes Sora's hand. "Deal."

Sora lets go before stepping back a bit, looking quite pompous in his stature. "Fair warning, I was going easy on you before. Glamoring is my specialty… so I'm gonna give you all I've got."

Taking a deep breath, Roxas braces himself before locking eyes with Sora. "I'm ready."

It's a mere second after saying that when Roxas feels himself descending into Candyland, this time feeling as if he's falling into an orgasmic chute on the way. His vision is stained rosy-pink, and he feels his body relax considerably under his intoxicated stupor. The daze is far muddier than before, and his conscious flounders helplessly.

_F-fuck… _He barely manages to find himself in the madness, _Shit, he wasn't kidding…_

"Now Roxas," Against his will, Roxas feels himself eagerly looking to Sora, awaiting instructions like a loyal puppy. "Do you remember my name?"

The vampire's name rolls off his tongue like a tart and mouthwatering lemon drop, "Sora."

_Damn it! That was pathetic… and Sora wasn't even trying! _Roxas thinks hard to remember what exactly he said or done to himself during the first trip down lollipop lane. He focuses hard on not letting himself respond to the cocky brunet.

"Tell me something about yourself, Roxas."

This time Roxas stays quiet, though he's still trapped in the daze. Inside his head, he's pleased with himself.

_Better. Much better._

"_Please,"_ Sora's words should be gentle, but they come out impatient. "Tell me."

Roxas feels a wave of distorting bliss wash over his being and with only a moment's hesitation says, "I ran away from home."

_Son of a bitch! So close…!_

"Really? Huh, I didn't take you for the runaway type." Sora shrugs, "You almost got it, Roxas. Well, third time's a charm, right? How about we kick it up a few notches?" He smiles, and with one hand beckons the blond closer to him. The next words that leave Sora's mouth make Roxas' stomach drop. "Kiss me."

_MOTHERFUCKER! _Roxas screams in his head, _I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!_

His body moves very slowly toward the vampire as Roxas fights himself every step of the way. The overwhelming longing to lose himself against Sora's lips practically overpowers his consciousness as he drowns in skin-crawling arousal. It is a truly exhausting process, and he almost wishes he could just drop right there on the sidewalk rather than go on… but there's no way he's putting his mouth near Sora's if there is anything he can do about it.

Like a cruel flash of lightning across the sky, his mind goes to Seifer. Roxas couldn't protect himself against Seifer, no matter how hard he tried. He had to run, run far away and never look back. This city was his only escape, and this is where he intends to become more powerful than ever before.

_I'll be damned if I can't fight anymore…_

His conscious surfaces.

_I'll be damned if I can't break free…!_

Roxas is incredibly close to Sora, and he looks deep into those blue eyes. The vampire is clearly struggling just as much as Roxas to keep control.

_No… no, no, no, no, NO…!_

Roxas feels their noses touch, and Sora smiles victoriously just as the rosy-pink begins to drain from the blond's vision.

_**STOP**__!_

With one swift movement, Roxas strikes his hand across Sora's cheek with a satisfying smack.

_Déjà vu._

The vampire's eyes go wide, and he's taken aback. Roxas stumbles backwards, wheezing loudly, before leaning on his knees with his hands. He is about ready to collapse from the serious mental exertion he'd just experienced. On his back, he feels the anticipated droplets of rain make their arrival. He looks to Sora whose face is puzzled; the blue-eyed man holds his cheek, which is slightly red from the force of the slap, and stares at Roxas in pure wonder.

With a smug grin, Roxas breathlessly mutters, "I win."

"I like you," Sora laughs, grinning widely, "You're spunky."

Then the Dusk City tower bells clamor—the sound spanning across the city like a bad omen across the mind of a saint. Roxas' breath hitches in his throat, and he finally notices the giant orb hanging in the pure blackness of the sky. It was carefully hidden behind the looming rainclouds that are just now shedding their weight.

A full moon.

_Oh no… _He feels the fear rise through his chest,_ How could I forget?! That's why there are no trams coming…!_

On the nightfall of a full moon, the streetcar systems are limited to very few areas across the city. That way werewolves are less likely to make mass attacks on the trams if the only ones in operation are few and far between.

All of a sudden, Roxas hears it. It's a sound that he's only heard from the safety of his apartment, and it rattles him down to the depths of his soul.

A howl.

He looks to Sora, whose eyes are cast elsewhere; on his face is an expression of recognition and Roxas watches as a few raindrops run down the man's cheeks and neck. "We have to go," The vampire says, "Right now."

"Wait, why should I go with you?" Roxas asks in discontent, "Why should I even trust you after that stunt you pulled?"

"I get where you're coming from Roxas, I really do," Sora pleads with him, voice low and concerned, "But would you rather trust me or a ravenous wolfman who will probably turn you into ground beef on sight?"

Roxas is about to carefully consider his options when he hears another howl, almost identical to the previous one, but far closer now than before. With nothing to add, Roxas simply nods at Sora, who grabs his hand in response. The blond notices Sora is trembling, but he's not certain if it's from fear.

"Listen up, Roxas, 'cause I'm only going to say this once…"

Roxas nods again, "I'm listening."

"_Run_."

* * *

Exeunt

* * *

A note from MHC: 3 and 6 are my lucky numbers.

This one was a doozy! I really hope it was worth the wait (and I also hope it didn't make you crave sweets too much).

I'm sure former fans of _Things That Kill…_ can appreciate all the references I hid in this chapter. How many can you find?

Honestly, I wasn't sure what to name this chapter. I was going to go with Sanguine Fairy Floss since the chapter is more lighthearted than the others (but still has a dark undertones). It just seemed a little too long. Let me know what you think!

A lot of people have been wondering if I'll be giving Seifer a beating or incorporating my fanfiction _Little Red_ into _The __Night_. My answer is... maybe! You're just going to have to wait and find out. MUAHAHAHAHA! (In the meantime, _Little Red_ will be getting another makeover since it really needs it, so stay tuned!)

(All the inspirations for the creatures of the night are drawn from multiple fictional universes, most notably Bram Stoker's _Dracula _and the 2011 Magic: The Gathering set "Innistrad".)

_Thank you all so much for your awesome responses!** Please don't forget to **__**leave a review**__** or follow the story! **Feel free to watch my deviantART for more updates!_

With bunches of scrumditilyumptious love,  
-Hannah


	5. IV: Horatio

**The Night  
**Chapter IV: _Horatio_

* * *

_**August 23, 1860**_

"_Wait!" He shouted; his pace labored by the sand sinking beneath his footfalls. "Do not leave me behind!"_

"_Perhaps you should try to catch up before asking me to wait!" The other boy shouted back, "Learn to run better, will you, Sora?"_

_Sora laughed, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side. He watched his brother hastily tear his shoes off before running upon the wet sand of the shoreline. The sound of the waves became more prevalent as he got closer, and the humid ocean wind whisked at his face. Just before he caught up to his brother, he stripped himself of footwear as well. His feet smacked across the sodden earth and an icy chill from the cold ground rippled through his small body._

"_Perhaps," He gasped with labored breath, "We should trade places so I may have the same experience you do!"_

_His brother could not help but smile, "Now that you're the age of 10, surely mother and father will let you join me on my journeys to the beach. Then you'll have plenty of experience for yourself. That is, if you stop hiding away your missal."_

"_I hate those boring old things. I'd much rather read my history books."_

"_Oh? The chaplain always speaks of God casting us into hell should be ignore the words of our missals."_

_Sora responded with a loud scoff, "I am not afraid of God. Or hell."_

_His brother laughed, shaking his head at the smaller boy. "Nor am I. God or no, we should be grateful that our name is noble enough to afford an education and books that aren't religious—"_

"_Look!" Sora interjected, suddenly running closer to the water, "A ship! It must be a trading vessel."_

_Floating along in the distance, a ship bobbed and weaved over the sea—its masts tall and its sails stark white against the light of the summer sun. Sora observed it with wonder, uncaring of the freezing water now lapping at his ankles. The ship seemed like a beacon in the dark waters of the ocean; a heavenly object shining to him, even as it encroached a wall of fog laying upon the horizon. He watched in silent awe as the vessel made it's way across the Black Sea._

"_You gaze at that ship with such earnest I fear you might jump into the water and start swimming to catch it."_

_Joyously, Sora turned to his brother, "Had I the chance, I'd board a ship to-night! All I have ever wanted was to be a historian, sailing across the world, witnessing history." Sora sat down on the sand. "I could cross the sea, kiss the hands of maidens, bury myself in the libraries of the world. Father tells me history is made every day… so I will record everything that happens, and even see it with my own eyes." The boy let himself fall back, his shoulders landing against the wet ground. "I want to leave this place and see the world."_

_Sora reached his hand out to the blue sky, fingers obscuring the sun…_

* * *

**June 10, 2025**

…and when he brings it back down, he sees the moon hanging in the night sky.

Lazily, Sora examines his hand; slowly wiggling his tan fingers in the moonbeams, as if to reenergize his lost spirit. Lately the atmosphere feels thicker. There's a sense of foreboding settling off in the distance like thick smog.

He could be getting fucked up at a club somewhere, wandering the streets, loitering on the tram systems, maybe picking up some money from an odd job somewhere… but the beach seems ideal. It always does.

The soft churning of the ocean waves drifts through his head like a lullaby. The sand of Dusk City's beach is cool on his back, and so is the misty breeze on his face. He isn't sure what it is about this place, but Sora always finds himself coming here when there's nowhere else to go. Is it the smell of salt in the air? The soft sand sticking to his skin? Maybe it's his islander blood calling him there? Perhaps… it could be because it reminds him of the time before his "unlife", so to speak. Most of his memory of then is somewhat fuzzy and full of holes, but he does remember most of his time spent at the beach.

Almost 200 years of life and, no matter where he goes or what part of the world he steps foot in, he always ends up like driftwood on the shore. It's almost as if some kind of ghost is haunting him, or there's an invisible string pulling him; before he knows it, Sora's walking upon the sand and looking upon the waves.

He lays the back of his hand against his forehead and peers into the abyss suspended above. In the still blackness, faint hints of stars glitter weakly against the city's light pollution. There was a time where he would sit upon the damp wood of a ship and chart the stars—"keys to the world" is what his crewmates called them. Far back then, they shone like lighthouses to those on a ship drifting in the middle of the sea. But that was a very long time ago. Now, there's a sort of feeling of being lost without them guiding the way.

Shutting his eyes, Sora once more tires to picture running across the beach as a child. Everything is practically crystal clear… all but one thing.

The face of his brother.

It's smudged and unrecognizable, like a pastel smear across a photograph. With all the memories that are important to him still intact, it seems so bizarre that one of the few people he ever truly cared about is missing; it's almost as if somebody purposefully plucked him out from Sora's brain. Stranger yet, it took almost 150 years for Sora to even remember having a brother. As more time passes, the more his memory returns—slowly filling up his head like sand in an hourglass. While these memories were precious, their loss wasn't worth mulling over, really. All those people in his distant thoughts are dead, as harsh as it sounds.

Naturally, the true curse of immortality is watching those you care for wither away and die.

_This is the price I pay for becoming a keeper of history, _Sora thinks, his dedicated apathy allowing no emotion to stir in his chest. _It's easier to discover new worlds than witness people face their mortality constantly._

Regardless of their great task, he and the other vampires had gotten lazy. With the integration of supernatural creatures into society being surprisingly smooth, all so-called "nightwalkers" found it less and less hard to stay secretive and alive. As more people wanted to become vampires (for whatever awful reason) the need for diligent recorders diminished as the population rose. On top of all that, despite widespread acceptance, few cities allowed creatures of the night in and even fewer cities had a major populous made up of supernaturals—Dusk City being the biggest of them all. At this point, vampires are known more for their awesome parties and great sex than for their work in history.

Despite how awesome it is to live his unending days in a blur, Sora can't help but feel he's wasting himself, and whatever purpose he has, away. Somewhere deep down, he can't help but feel his dedication has been squandered by some bizarre need for a mid-unlife crisis. A large part of him wants to go back to how it once was, even though the rest of him has accepted that he simply cannot. Especially not with recent developments in the covenant…

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart," Sora sighs, "Absent thee from felicity a while, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story."

"My first guess is right again." A voice cuts through the sound of rolling waves, "You're sitting on the beach muttering Shakespeare, as usual."

Knowing the voice all too well, Sora doesn't bother opening his eyes. "Well! Now that you're here, let's play Wheel of Fortune." He lets a smile creep to his face. "You've got 50 thou in the pot. So far, the board says: 'I'm not going'. There's one word left in the phrase. Would you like to solve the puzzle or would you like to buy a vowel?"

There's a laugh, "At least you're cutting to the chase," Sora hears the sifting of the sand as footsteps encroach him. "Also, you say you're not going back as if you have a choice."

"Who says I don't? 'His Majesty'? Give me a break." He laughs a bit himself, "What a frumpy title, anyway. Royalty in one life and for some reason it carries into the next…"

"You know that's not why he is who he is. We wouldn't be having this conversation right now if that was the case."

Sitting up, Sora blinks his eyes open to stare at the tall figure next to him: the only thing clear in the blackness of the night is silver hair catching the light of the moon.

"Riku, you're my best friend in this whole wide world… but you're wasting your time. You've been sniffing me out for weeks, but look—" He gestures to himself in amusement, "—I'm still here! Still AWOL. What makes you think tonight will be any different?"

Riku watches as Sora stands and brushes the sand off his body, briefly glancing over said vampire's attire. Hooded leather jacket, red ribbed tank, tattered jeans, beat-up sneakers, infamous crown necklace… typical Sora. Shaking his head, Riku sighs. What a mess.

"Maybe tonight won't be different." He mutters as Sora picks his knapsack up from the sand and slings it over his shoulders. "But tomorrow night is a full moon." Sora instantly locks eyes with Riku, feeling an expression of realization flash across his own face. The silver-haired man continues, "Then you won't be able to run _or_ hide from me, and I can't guarantee your safety either."

Sora can't help but let a chuckle out, "Doesn't that piss you off, Riku? 'His Grace' is turning you into his almost-literal foxhound."

Suddenly Riku takes an aggressive step forward, but Sora doesn't budge; smirking arrogantly at the lycanthrope. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe this _isn't_ about what _he_ wants?! That maybe I just want you to come back and stop all this bullshit because I'm your friend and I care about you?" There is a long pause of unyielding eye contact, and Sora's facetious smile never fades. Under his breath Riku growls, "Kairi cares too, you know."

That comment must have flicked a switch somewhere, because Sora's grin drops in an instant before the vampire abruptly tears his eyes away and cries out in frustration. "It isn't my fucking fault, okay?! THIS was never my choice! Never did I ask to be a MONSTER! Never once did I ask to be a 'Lamb of Dracul', or whatever the King calls it! Before fifty years ago, I hadn't even the knowledge the fucker was my Sire until my memories returned and they tested my blood to be sure." Noticing the slip in his dialect, Sora runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get a hold of himself. "My job was to record history. Out of this whole mess, that was the only thing I wanted. And now they suddenly want me running the whole shebang?"

"You know it's not that simple, Sora. The King needs—"

"What? A hero, right?" Sora laughs mockingly, "I'm no hero. I memorialize the heroes. Hamlet dies, but Horatio lives on to tell his story; just like the rest of my bloodsucking brothers and sisters and I." Sora gnashes his fangs at Riku, "So if you or anybody else still wants me to come back, _you can fucking __**drag**__ me._"

There is silence. Both men are still as statues; gazes transfixed on one another. The air around them is heavy with anticipation and sea mist, and Sora knows who will make the first move.

In a mere blink, he watches Riku jolt forward with his hand out, aiming straight for Sora's throat—

But it's not fast enough.

Before Riku's brain can even register the pain, there are four pure silver prongs of searing heat ripping into his gut and he suddenly feels his body go rigid. Sora watches his friend drop to the sand from the 55,000 volts rocking the werewolf's system. Unsympathetic, he tosses the taser next to the convulsing man and takes off toward the city without a second thought.

* * *

**June 11, 2025**

When Sora opens his eyes, the room is comfortably dark. Hanging in the air are the smells of bleach and lingering cigarette burns, with maybe a touch of cheap coffee. Fancy-looking curtains are drawn over the windows, and barely any daylight seeps out through the heavy cloth. He turns on his side under the stale hotel sheets, glancing at the hovering holographic analog clock on the bedside table: 4:37 pm. Not quite sunset, but it's a safe enough time to leave.

_Besides, the longer I stay the better chance Riku has to sniff me out._

The night before, he was able to duck into some clubs and hop on a few trams to throw off the werewolf. So far, it's been the best scent-breaker since so many bodies (typically sweaty) in one place at one time are enough to overload any creature's scent trail. Riku has always hated such crowded places anyway, so it's always Sora's go-to option for both his freedom and as food for his outgoing personality.

Sitting up in bed, Sora resolves to hop in the shower momentarily to help rid himself of his evening grogginess. Plus, there's plenty of stubborn excess sand still clinging to his skin somehow; not to mention the sweat of numerous other partiers. Crossing the crisp carpet of the still-dark hotel room, he drops his pants and boxers before entering the bathroom. Sora stands next to the tub and touches the hovering display to turn the hot water on; pondering briefly over the events of the night before. He's never tried tasing Riku before, and he genuinely hopes the charge stopped before the waves got too close.

Once the spray is on he steps under it, uncaring of the extreme heat. While sudsing himself down with the lavender scented hotel soap left in the tub, he tries his best not to think about Riku, especially not about Kairi, and _absolutely _not about the King. As the days pass, it has become harder and harder to accept his newfound "responsibility" to the coven… the longer he runs, the more futile it feels. It's like a ball and chain that just gets shorter and shorter as time goes by; regardless, his feelings are unwavering on the subject.

_If I can't even figure my own life out, and if I could barely even be a sire to someone I care about, _He rinses the bubbles from his skin, _Then why should I have to wear a crown or be a warrior?_

There's a moment of deliberation, of careful wondering. It's loud in Sora's head, as all his thoughts attack him at once like a barrage of guilt and the unknown. Questions, so many questions, like a murder of crows pecking at his skull begging for answers. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the stress rise quickly in his chest. However, as usual, Sora's positivity seems to break through the clusterfuck in his head and his care for the issue melts away with the thought: _Ah, fuck it. It's a new day! I'll deal with all that later._

Suddenly he feels his fingers begin to tremble, and shakes slowly creep up his body. He curses, remembering that he hasn't eaten in over 24 hours and now he's suffering for it. With a groan, Sora shuts off the shower and quickly darts out of the bathroom whilst drying off with a towel. He reaches for his knapsack with shuddering hands, and dumps its contents out onto the bed. Some weapons, mostly dirty clothes, blood-lancing devices, and…

"Aha!" Sora feels triumphant as a blood packet and a few vials topple out of the bag, at least until—"…oh fuck."—he sees that they're all empty. He carefully examines the vials, noting that one has at least a tablespoon left and should be enough until he locates the nearest blood bank. He unscrews the small flask and quickly tips it back like a shot; allowing the bitter, coppery goodness to fully coat his tongue before thickly swallowing. As the intoxicating fluid coats his throat, Sora realizes just how tasty this stuff is once he's gone without it for a long time. The tip of his tongue searches eagerly for any excess sticking to his lips while he scoops back up the mess into his knapsack.

He leaves out his last clean shirt, a black v-neck, and pair of clean boxers before making a note to stop by a laundromat after the blood bank. With his body slowing its trembling, Sora shoves in his old shirt and boxers and proceeds to clumsily dress.

After leaving his hotel room and traveling to the lobby via elevator, Sora checks out with the nice young woman at the counter. As another careful step in covering his tracks, Sora glamors her into forgetting his face with a sly smile—but not before having her unbutton her top a little, which is one of his many favorite glamor tricks.

Stepping out into the shady city, Sora feels pretty great. It is a beautiful day despite the fog hanging over the cityscape and the sting of lingering sunlight on his skin, there's a lot to do, and life is looking pretty wonderful.

That is, before he notices a familiar face right across the street. He stares into seafoam eyes which bore into his soul like two hot stakes in his heart. Sora can't help but grimace as Riku silently scowls at him; watching the tall man pull last night's taser from a jacket pocket and crush it slowly in his grasp before dropping the crumpled mess onto the pavement. Stunned, Sora merely shrugs and awkwardly smiles in a sort of jovial, please-don't-brutally-murder-me manner.

Without warning, an oncoming tram car passes in front of Sora.

When it's gone, so is Riku.

_Well, fuck._

Thinking swiftly, Sora dashes to catch the tram at its next stop—it's his only hope. With the streets mostly empty, there are few obstacles which is a good and bad thing: good because there's little in Sora's way, bad because there is also little in Riku's way. Not daring to look anywhere but forward, Sora feels the twinge of pain in his side and—

Go

Sand

Go

Sea

Go

History

Gogogogogogogogogogogogogogo GO GO GO GO GO GO

"_Isn't this what you wanted, Sora?"_

Gold?

_What?_

Even though there's a sudden crazy blur of thoughts in his head, he doesn't stop. He shakes the bizarre… nostalgia? Reminiscence? Some kind of contact high? Well, whatever it is, he shakes it from his brain and sprints despite the protest of his body. A short distance away he sees the tram slow to a stop, knowing there are only a few seconds to spare. He feels Riku's presence upon him, closing in like a literal wolf on it's prey, so he reaches out…

And just barely swings himself into the open doors of the tram, the door sliding shut behind him. Sora watches through the glass of the door as Riku's figure, which was merely a yard or two away from him, disappear as the tram glides along. He pants in exhaustion, his good mood returning without skipping a beat, before turning to look at the empty—

_Oh._

_Not_ empty tram car behind him.

In the middle of the car there's a blond human sitting there, staring at the window all bored-like. Sora feels a strange, but not unfamiliar, flutter in his chest when he notices how cute this stranger is. Feeling confident, he smoothly strides up to the man; turning on the charm like a light switch in his head.

"This seat taken?" He gently smiles, but his only reply is a shrug. Sora plops down next to the blond with a pleased sigh, placing his knapsack between his legs. He doesn't let the stranger's movement toward the window deter him. Here comes the quirky small talk. Still exhausted, he asks sarcastically, "It's pretty busy today, huh? This car is _packed_."

The blond smiles politely, "I know, I can barely breathe in here."

Sora lets out a genuine laugh, happy to receive both a smile and legitimate interaction. He notices the human is looking him over in a curious manner, so he himself takes a brief second to give the blond a closer inspection. Gorgeous azure eyes, a white cotton shirt, grey hoodie, a cool silver necklace in the shape of an X…

"That's an awesome necklace, by the way." Sora comments, smiling once more.

"Oh," The young man touches the jewelry, and Sora notes how dainty and soft his hands look. "Thank you. Yours is cool too." He points to Sora's own necklace. "Is that silver?"

"Platinum, actually. It's a family heirloom." At least, from what he remembers. It was one of the clearer memories of his past: his mother proudly handing him the heirloom as a present for his 21st birthday.

He sees the blond relax slightly, "Mine too actually. It was made back in the 1880s."

Sora feels himself beaming at the other man, "Hey! Same here! Check it out," He flips the crown over, "1887." This date was something Sora was unsure of. He was 21 in 1871, and he technically "died" in 1873. What happened in 1887? He wasn't sure. He just knows it appeared on his most prized possession around the same time most of his memory had been lost.

"That's such a crazy coincidence!" The blond smiles, and Sora feels that flutter in his chest again. "You know what they say: it's a small world after all."

Laughing, Sora can't help but lean in close and eagerly say, "I have to ask, what's your name?"

Just then the tram stops once more, and the now-nervous human seems relieved. Looking away, he mutters, "Um… this is my stop."

Sora doesn't let the sudden (and very odd) panic show on his face. "Oh!" He chuckles, sliding out of the seat and grabbing his knapsack. He pulls an excuse out of thin air, determined to at least get a name out of the attractive stranger. "It really is a small world." He bullshits, "It's my stop too."

The blond gestures toward the door, looking as if he's feigning politeness. "After you."

_It's not gonna be that easy._

Calling the bluff, Sora enthusiastically gestures himself. "No I insist. After _you._"

Sora watches the blond sling a backpack over his shoulders before hurrying off the tram and onto the sidewalk, noticing that the stranger is merely an inch shorter than him. With how nervous the guy seems, Sora decides he's better off saving some time by doing what he does best. He steps off the tram, and the guy turns around to face him. He focuses on those lovely azure eyes, ready to grab hold with his gaze.

"Well it was nice chatting with you—"

"Stop." He breathes, watching the stranger go still. The blond looks quite giddy, like a child who just received a lollipop, which certainly isn't a common side-effect of glamor but it's nothing to write home about. "Now," The guy perks up at the sound of Sora's voice, "Tell me your name."

"Roxas," The blond affectionately sighs, smiling as if in a drunken daze. "I'm Roxas."

Sora can't help the surprised smirk that tugs at his lips, finding Roxas' reaction both incredibly strange and quite honestly arousing. Still, he remains polite: getting strangers to unbutton their blouses or give their name is enough entertainment, even though Sora knows he's capable of much more.

"Well Roxas, it's very nice to meet you." He reaches out his hand to shake, making Roxas mirror the action.

It is in this moment when the most bizarre thing happens.

Sora's hand is slapped away

This human—Roxas—has broken free of Sora's glamor. In over 200 years of Sora's unlife and hundreds upon thousands of glamor subjects both human and supernatural, this has _**NEVER**_ happened.

_What… _Sora catches Roxas' gaze again, totally flabbergasted, _…the fuck?_

"How…" Is the only thing he manages to splutter out, "How did you do that?"

He's so shocked that he doesn't even budge when Roxas whips around and books it down the sidewalk.

Realizing his own stupidity, he shouts. "Hey wait! WAIT!"

Sora is about to go after Roxas when he realizes just which street he's on: the one with the two Organization members right across the street from one another. The last people he wants to fuck with are the Organization, and if he's spotted—rather, _smelled_—chasing a human, Lamb of Dracul or no, he could be done for.

Unsure of his next move, Sora calls out to the fleeing mortal, "I didn't get to tell you! My name is _Sora!_"

Knowing the blond was in earshot, he watches as his new acquaintance skitters away, still visibly rattled.

A strange sense of reality settles on Sora then as he watches the rapidly fading back of the mortal. This is the first person Sora has known of who can resist glamoring since he studied the Salem Witch Trials. A wave of excitement flows through his veins; it's a kind of excitement he hasn't felt since the glory days of his travels. He has to learn more about this curious human… he has to learn more about Roxas.

This is revolutionary.

_This is history._

* * *

About half a block away from the Organization members' shops, Sora has taken refuge at a small bar with black bricks and dim lights. He'd glamored the bartender to allow him to stay as long as necessary, and to warn Sora if either Riku or Roxas are walking down the street. The bartender also has a clear look at the bookstore he knows one of the black-cloaks owns, so Sora is having him keep an eye on who goes in and out of there too.

Once the evening rush was over, the bar was nearly empty save for the occasional stragglers here and there. As he waits for any sign of Roxas, Sora is lounging in a half-circle booth tucked into a secluded corner of the bar; as far away from the window as possible, just in case. On a positive note, Riku would probably never follow him down this particular street even if he did catch his scent since the werewolf knows the locations of the Organization even better than Sora does. While unsure where Roxas vanished to, Sora can surmise that if the human has a gift like that, he's on his way to join the Organization (if he hasn't already done so). Either way, the closest tram is the one they both stepped off of so he'll be heading in that direction regardless.

Slumping in his seat, Sora lets out a long sigh and ponders over the situation at hand. What exactly does he know about the black cloaks—er… the Organization? Other than they act as the police for the creatures of the night… not a whole lot. Magical powers of questionable origin, freaky DNA, and snazzy jackets are the only facts he has. Everybody knows that they were vigilantes until appointed by the city, and some of them are even descendants of some really powerful spellcasters. Having only this knowledge in hand, Sora is disappointed in himself.

"Some keeper of history I am…" He mutters.

To be fair, the Organization was only formed a few years after the supernatural became a regular part of society and has done it's best to stay under serious wraps since. They're almost like a leap-of-faith en carnate: just trust that they'll keep you safe from the things that go bump in the—

"Pink hair," The bartender suddenly blurts out, "Tall, no cloak. He's leaving the bookshop, crossing the street… and entering the flower shop."

Sora nods in understanding, "Must be one of the members." Before Sora can contemplate this further, the bartender speaks again.

"Shorter and younger man leaving the bookshop, no cloak… blonde hair."

Sora can't fight the instinct to stand suddenly. He scrambles for loose munny in his pockets and slams the makeshift tip out on the table. On his way to scurry out the door he splutters out, "Thanksforyourhelpmuchappreciatedsorryforanytroubleyou'refreefrommyserviceforgetyoueversawmeandhavealovelynight bye!"

As he leaves the bar, he spots Roxas heading back toward the tram and, after channeling his inner sneaky vampire, starts to tail the human at a comfortable distance.

* * *

Some time passes and the rainclouds still hang threateningly in the sky, although no droplets have fallen to the ground. Standing at the tram stop he'd gotten off of a couple hours ago is Roxas, looking lost in thought as he waits for his ride. From the cover of an alleyway corner, Sora can't help but take a moment to watch. Now that he's encountering the human again, he isn't quite sure how to approach him. He clearly can't just glamor the mortal into staying, and at the first sight of the vampire Roxas would probably take off. He has to come up smoothly, in one fluid motion, and make sure he can't run.

_Fuck it,_ He shrugs_, I'm overthinking this._ _Let's just roll with it._

With one long deep breath, Sora swiftly strides up to Roxas, grips him around the bicep and forces him to turn around. Sora isn't prepared to be captivated by azure eyes, and his brain goes quiet. He feels a wayward smile appear on his face, and all he can really muster is a "Boo."

"_You…_" The mortal hisses, and Sora sees a fist rocketing toward him.

"Woah there!" Sora barely dodges it, "Just calm down!"

"Calm down?! Fuck you!" Another failed punch.

This is _not_ the reaction Sora was expecting.

Unsure of how to deal with Roxas' rage, he attempts to reason with him. "I'm just here to talk," He assures, "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"What the fuck did you do to me?!" Roxas bites out.

…_huh?_ Sora suddenly finds himself incredibly confused.

"You made me see fluffy clouds and happy bunnies or some shit!"

…_fucking huh?_ "Fluffy what?" Sora is lost as all holy hell. "Roxas, what are you talking about?"

There's a brief pause, and Sora watches the interesting process of balking realization turn into utter rage on Roxas' face. The blond blindly swings toward him in vain as Sora continues to dodge the hits like they're butterflies catching a gentle glide off the evening breeze.

"I can do this all night, you know." Sora sighs and in one fluid motion catches Roxas' fists as they propel toward him. He figures it's time to cut to the chase, as reasoning is getting him nowhere. "Listen, I just want to know how you resisted my glamor. That's all!"

Now Roxas looks confused, head tilted slightly and lips pursed in a questioning matter. "Your… what?"

Sora feels the frown on his face, more puzzled now than ever before. This guy is living in Dusk City and he doesn't know glamor? This is… an even stranger predicament than he realized. Sora attempts to clarify, "It's the thing I used to make you tell me your name. Do you not know what glamoring is?"

Roxas sheepishly turns his gaze away, pouting and muttering a "No, I don't actually…" Just then, the blonde lights up as if he remembered something important and he looks back to the vampire. "That's what I was telling you about with the clouds and bunnies! When you did that it was like you slipped me ecstasy because everything turned pink and…"

_Woah. WOAH. FUCKING WOAH._

"Wait, wait, wait…" Sora lets go of Roxas' hands, more baffled now than he has been in an incredibly long time. "You're telling me that not only could you resist the glamor, but you could also _see_ and _feel_ it?"

"I…" Roxas pauses as if searching his brain for details, "I'm not sure what else to tell you, blue-eyes."

"Blue-eyes?" Sora scoffs, both mildly amused at the nickname and slightly saddened his actual name did not stick with the human. "I told you my name, remember? I'm Sora. And you can at least tell me how you did it."

After opening his mouth, Roxas's gaze drifts as he pauses in thought for a long while. Though the sight is somewhat silly, he's still fascinated to hear what his companion has to say and waits patiently for a response. Is it a spell? A magical ability of some kind? Does Roxas even know what he did? The guy doesn't know what glamoring is, so the likeliest result is that he just doesn't know how he resisted it. Still, it would be interesting to find out; perhaps an experiment would be in order? Roxas' eyes snap back to Sora's, and said vampire feels the eagerness swell in his chest.

"Well," The human starts, "I guess the best way to put it is that I used my willpower. Nothing seemed right, and I knew I had to stop it somehow." He rubs the back of his neck. "At least, I'm pretty sure that's what I did. I really just don't know." Roxas sends Sora a bemused look, "Why does it matter to you anyway?"

"_Why does it matter"? _Sora repeats in his head, incredibly frustrated, _Fucking really?_ Then he remembers the situation at hand. "I almost forgot you don't know what glamor is… and you live in Dusk City of all places." Sora can't help the laugh that sneaks through his throat.

"Are you going to tell me what it is then?" The blond bites out, cutely crossing his arms and pouting in agitation.

Sora can't help the thought,_ It's like negotiating with a cranky puppy, _as he looks to the clouds and taps his cheek in consideration. "Well, it's a bit tricky to explain." He starts. He's never had to really explain this to someone, not since about 70 years ago. "It's not quite mind control, but more of an influence, I guess. You can't have people do your bidding, but you can encourage their will or actions one way or another. Typically you can feel the sensation of being glamored, but definitely not as extreme as your case. It's kinda like the feeling of trust or solace in a human's heart—you can suddenly confide in the one glamoring you, and everything they say makes sense." He makes a gesture to Roxas, "Like getting someone's name. I can do that, maybe even make them do something else, but that's about it. Some say the most powerful of vampires can completely bend the will of anything, not just humans." An honest smile curls at Sora's lips. "You're interesting to me because, through all my years of complete success in glamoring people, not a single one has had the ability to resist like you."

Sora watches Roxas' eyes go wide and jaw go slack. The human says nothing, only stares, and Sora is momentarily unsure of why the other man is so awestruck. Both men are quiet, the only audible sound is the gentle buzzing of the streetlamp overhead and the distant rumble of thunder over the ocean.

Suddenly, it hits Sora.

"You really are new here…" Sora can't disguise the mischief in his voice, "You wanna see 'em?"

Uncaring of a response, Sora lets his fangs come down and grins widely. He can feel the fear and excitement through Roxas' gaze as the human gawks at him. Then, Sora briefly holds his hand over his mouth before retracting his fangs and removing his hand. He runs his tongue over his now-normal teeth in amusement, still enjoying the look on Roxas' face.

"Neat trick, huh?" He refrains from adding something along the lines of 'I'd like to try it against your neck' so as not to be too forward and scare his new friend off too soon.

There is a moment of silence, and the vampire isn't sure whether or not Roxas is going to hightail it right then and there. Feeling giddy, Sora genuinely smiles and says "You're pretty odd. I haven't done something like that in forever, I'm just so used to people keeping to themselves in this city." Unsure of the blond's current mental state, he asks, "Are you okay, Roxas?"

"Uh…" He watches Roxas halfheartedly shrug.

Satisfied, Sora thinks back to their conversation before and remembers his thoughts about experimentation. "I have an idea!" He blurts out, "Let's see how well you can break out of my glamor!"

"W-what?" Roxas scowls and as if reading Sora's mind replies, "I'm not an experiment! If anything you should be telling me more about all this vampire stuff since you've been giving me so much grief!"

"Hmmm," Sora figures a bargain on Roxas' terms may be in order. After all, this is historical and it is not to be ignored. It's been a long time since he's experienced something of this scale, so it's worth milking it. "How 'bout this, if you break out of it at least once I'll tell you anything you want. Deal?" He holds out his hand out to shake.

Roxas hesitates, but Sora waits patiently for a response. He hopes dearly that Roxas will accept, and a fucked up part of him wants to push his own limits. His greatest talent as a vampire is his impeccable ability to glamor people, so if he really is a Lamb of Dracul, what is he capable of? Can Sora himself really bend the will of a human to his liking, especially one with such a powerful resistance?

_Maybe now is the time to test this._

Sora is snapped from his thoughts when Roxas reaches out and shakes his hand with a cocky "Deal."

Excited by the challenging smirk on the humans face, Sora lets go and steps back a bit; allowing his own confidence to show. "Fair warning, I was going easy on you before. Glamoring is my specialty… so I'm gonna give you all I've got."

Roxas takes a deep breath, bracing himself, before locking eyes with Sora again. "I'm ready." He says, and Sora doesn't hesitate to reach his conscious deep into those azure eyes. Down, down, down… he grips onto Roxas's free will like a malignant tumor, boring into the human's mind deeper than he's ever gone into anyone before. Sora waits until his soon-to-be mindslave looks high as a fucking kite before speaking.

_Let's start with something simple._

"Now Roxas," Sora watches the eagerness in Roxas' face, "Do you remember my name?"

"Sora." Roxas moans so perfectly, and Sora feels the heat pooling in his gut.

_I might have gone too deep…_ He jokes internally. _Next request._

"Tell me something about yourself, Roxas."

This time the human stays quiet, and Sora somehow feels a struggle against the mental constraints. Nothing too tricky to fix.

"_Please_," He demands, gripping his influence on Roxas a little tighter, "Tell me."

With only a brief hesitation and a quivering lip, Roxas mutters "I ran away from home."

"Really?" Sora wonders aloud, "Huh, I didn't take you for the runaway type. You almost got it, Roxas. Well, third time's a charm, right?" Feeling wicked, and also with consideration from the earlier reactions, it may be time to try something a bit more… interesting. "How about we kick it up a few notches?" He smiles, and with one hand beckons the blond closer to him. "Kiss me."

He feels Roxas fighting his glamor as the blond's body inches slowly toward him. Sora wrings Roxas' will with all his might, struggling more with simple mind control than he ever has in his entire eternal life. It's exhausting, but he won't stop until Roxas breaks free or he's kissing those delicate-looking lips. His sudden insatiable hunger plunges him deeper into Roxas' conscious, making him want to desperately ravage the human under his slipping control.

It seems like a long while later, but Sora feels their noses touch and can't help the victorious smile as Roxas' lips close in—

And a sudden slap to the face knocks him from his focus.

_Déjà vu. _

Taken aback, Sora feels his eyes go wide. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Roxas leaning on his knees and wheezing loudly. The human looks to him, and they share the gaze for a while as Sora feels a raindrop or two land on his head.

Smugly, Roxas grins and breathlessly mutters, "I win,"

Laughing, Sora grins himself while remarking "I like you, you're spunky."

In the distance, the Dusk City tower bells clamor—the sound spanning across the city like a bad omen across the mind of a saint. Sora unconsciously looks up and he finally notices the giant orb hanging in the pure blackness of the sky. It was carefully hidden behind the looming rainclouds that are just now shedding their weight.

A full moon.

_Well, fuck. No wonder the tram is taking forever._

Then, there it is. Riku's howl.

It is unmistakable, as Sora has known that same one for so long that he cannot possibly be wrong. He knows who it's calling for, and Riku's words echo in his head:

"_You won't be able to run __**or**__ hide from me."_

"We have to go. Right now."

"Wait, why should I got with you?" Roxas spitefully asks, "Why should I even trust you after that stunt you pulled?"

True, Sora could just leave the human behind as it could slow him down… but putting another's life—mortal, at that—in danger is simply not who he is. He could never abandon somebody like that, no matter what. It would be Sora's fault if any harm came to Roxas at the claws of Riku, and he simply will not let that happen. Plus, he almost made it to first base with the guy; it would be rude to just take off.

Suddenly Sora feels his fingers begin to tremble, and shakes slowly creep up his body.

_Oh fuck. _He hasn't eaten since he left the hotel. _Not now… fuck…_

"I get where you're coming from Roxas, I really do," Sora pleads with him, voice low and concerned, "But would you rather trust me or a ravenous wolfman who will probably turn you into ground beef on sight?"

Sora knows he's right, but all it takes is another one of Riku's howls to convince Roxas and the human sends the vampire a nod of approval. The howl sounded closer than before, much closer, so Sora grabs Roxas' hand.

"Listen up, Roxas, 'cause I'm only going to say this once…"

Roxas nods again, "I'm listening."

"_Run_."

* * *

_A note from MHC:_ 3 and 6 are still my lucky numbers! I hope you enjoyed Sora's introductory chapter! I apologize that his chapter isn't too terribly different from the last… I just thought it would be interesting to get Sora's perspective of the whole thing rather than forgo it. Just in case some of you are wondering, it is NOT a coincidence (or me being lazy) that Sora has an incredibly similar thought process to Roxas. But more on that later!

I have to ask, please answer the _**poll**_ on my author profile! It will adversely affect how the next chapters turn out, and it is INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT! I have to make revisions before my next submission date, so pretty please answer it for me _ESPECIALLY_ if you liked my fanfiction "Little Red"!

(All the inspirations for the creatures of the night are drawn from multiple fictional universes, most notably Bram Stoker's _Dracula _and the 2011 Magic: The Gathering set "Innistrad".)

_**Please don't forget to **__**leave a review**__** or follow the story!**_

With snuggles and smooches,  
-Hannah


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